


Blighted Empire

by ofgoodmen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mages (Dragon Age), Minor Original Character(s), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Opposites Attract, POV Alternating, POV Dorian, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Third Person, Recovery, Slow Burn, Story Driven, Survivor Guilt, The Blight (Dragon Age), Trauma, Trust, Unreliable Narrator, lore heavy, love at first sight but they think it's hate?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 170,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofgoodmen/pseuds/ofgoodmen
Summary: An alternative universe where The Blight consumes Tevinter, centered on Dorian/Lavellan and their alternate lives. Blurry timelines so I don't have to fixate on how old/not alive side characters would be. Lots of playing with lore because I like to have fun.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 58
Kudos: 39





	1. A Magister's Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 0) A young Dorian has to adapt to life as a refugee after the destruction of his homeland, meets a young Lavellan struggling to survive with the remnants of his clan.

_Everything was burning._

_The ceiling came down on his head in bursts of smoke, black haze with sparse flecks of light all he could see. Lungs fit to burst from grit and fumes, body strained against the rubble to meet air again._

_Though muffled, everywhere he heard screaming; human screams, monstrous screams, the screaming of the buildings frame._

_He was only a teenager when the Blight tore through the Imperium. Likely he would have died, if a hand hadn't struck through the ashes to grab his arm and yank him out. Among the ever-present screaming, words became discernible._

_“_ _Magister Pavus! He's here, quickly!”_

_“Dorian! Dorian, are you alright?!”_

_He could only issue a cloud from his mouth, head swimming. Swiftly bundled against his father's chest, a grotesque visage with gnashing teeth came into view. Weak as he was, he still fell back. At the same moment a sword lit up the bleak sky and the monster was left a useless clump on the ground, alongside the mace it carried._

_“We have to go.”_

_The swordsman's voice was urgent and Dorian was pulled along by his father. He could barely walk or see, everything beyond a few feet was a shadow and these shadows charged, ambled, wailed, fought. Many were vicious, dripping tar, the clang of rusted metal accompanied every swing and stab._

_"How could the Blight already be in Minrathous?” Magister Pavus spat._

_The swordsman only grunted but alongside them Dorian heard a desperate voice spit back- some survivor who thought their best chance was with them._

_"You exiled the blighted Wardens! No one sensed them coming! They burst in through the slums!”_

_Fingers already eager to point. Dorian couldn't fault him. With the magnitude of the situation dawning on him, his blood ran cold. Magister Pavus said nothing. If he even shot the man a glare, Dorian didn't notice._

_Sunlight filtered through smoke, eyes stinging to see. Ancient walls with their ornate carvings that stood like sentinels for hundreds of years, were stained and crumbled beneath demonic fire. The roar grew louder. Every foundation shook._

_It became evident to him then. Tevinter would be swallowed by the Blight._

\--

Someone was crying softly. They had been for some time, from the sound of it.

Nightmares were a common occurrence among the Tevinter refugees, so it wasn't a surprise to Dorian that his thrashing hadn't disturbed so much as one person.

Breathing deep, Dorian sat up on the hay-filled sack that passed for his bed. There wasn't much to see but a few candles cast a warm glow in places, revealing the soot-coloured walls and floor. The Ferelden Circle saw fit to stick them in the old apothecary on the tower grounds. An incident from long ago had destroyed the equipment, leaving the inside of the building- a hovel- with the look and feel of a fireplace.

He shuddered. No wonder he couldn't be rid of the blighted dreams, sleeping in a furnace.

There were no windows to check for daylight, only iron grates that once expelled noxious air. He understood the schedule of his horrors by now, it had to be early morning.

On hands and feet he fumbled over sleeping forms until hovering over the most familiar. Felix groaned as he was shook awake.

“Dorian, what?”

 _“Dorian, what?”_ He mimicked playfully. “We've only been in the same tower for a few days and you're already sick of me?”

“Dorian, it's, it's,” Felix waved his hand in the air. “It's some sort of time, go back to sleep.”

“It's a wonder you can sleep. It's a wonder anyone can sleep, he certainly can't.”

The backdrop of weeping paused, then continued. Felix frowned at him.

“Don't be rude.”

Immediately Dorian's heart stung. He was babbling instead of thinking, wasn't he?

“I'm being serious.”

He stood and followed the quiet suffering until sitting alongside a youth bundled in as many blankets as resources could spare, face in his hay-pile.

“Do you have nightmares too?”

Silence stretched for a time but two things happened in tandem. Felix dragged himself and his bedding over, and the boy replied.

“I don't know where my parents are and I'm sick of sleeping in this hole. They weren't Magisters so no one tells me anything. I just get told to wait.”

Another grim silence. Even with their empire destroyed, those with power still held some sway through decades- sometimes centuries- of political ties and influence. Those lucky enough to escape their homeland with only their lives were shuffled around with even less dignity. This boy probably hadn't seen his parents since leaving the dock a year ago.

It was Felix who spoke;

“Well that's what these negotiations are for. They wouldn't lump us all here if they didn't mean to take us somewhere once and for all.”

An optimistic view but Dorian wouldn't counter it out loud.

“They did this before and we were just moved again.” The boy whined.

“They never said that was permanent, though. It must be this time, they even brought the Dalish refugees.”

“Even the Dalish are seeking refuge in the Circle?” Dorian's interest was piqued.

"I don't know all the stories,” Felix was quick to admit. “But I came across the Templars camping with Dalish on my way here. Someone told me they were from a clan that specialised in magic, but there was some sort of split. Half of the clan sought out the Templars. I don't really know what they plan to do with them, but they can't be dragging them to the negotiations just to execute them or make them Tranquil.”

“True, they could do that anywhere.” Dorian mused, only a little bitter.

“But do you think they'll let me see my parents?”

The bitterness became heavy but Dorian's words were reassuring.

“We hear from ours, sometimes. We'll try to find out, yes? Here, let me find something for you to write your name out for me...”

Calming down, the boy jotted. Felix snoozed, sitting up. Dorian's thoughts turned inwards as much as he tried to escape them.

The only reason he lived was because his father had surprised him in Minrathous. Dorian was causing trouble, a habit everywhere he went, a whirlwind merely by speaking- which admittedly he'd done a lot of. He spoke out of turn, he spoke against political decisions, he argued with the teaching methods of every mentor assigned him.

When the Magisterium exiled the Grey Wardens on the grounds _“they held no true authority”_ , _“their claims of conscription are an insult to the Imperium”_ and _“we are an empire more than capable of eliminating this threat”_ , Dorian loudly protested to anyone unfortunate enough to listen.

_"The Grey Wardens are hardly some rogue organisation. This has been their duty for centuries. No Blight has been defeated without them, and you propose to do what? Throw a really big fireball? Massacre the slums in a ritual to save us all? Sneer at it very hard?”_

Of course he was just some stupid, snickering boy. No one paid him mind, even with the Archdemon breathing down their necks.

Yet out of all this, the worst of his transgressions was the company he kept. His peers liked him well enough when they didn't perceive him as grandstanding. So it was a mystery to all why Dorian felt the need to run about the slums with the servants, workers and elves.

If asked, Dorian would say the conversation was much better- which it often was.

In truth those people had never expected or insisted he be something he was not.

It was likely this, more than his political martyrdom, that convinced his father to see him in Minrathous. From what he claimed, his father scoured the slums for days, expecting him to be lazing about some servant's house.

He was mostly correct. Dorian made many friends in the forgotten district of Minrathous. A title given by a few since the Blight ravaged through the country, worsening conditions for those too poor to be spared mind.

There he was, snoozing in the backroom of a tavern owned by someone-who-knew-someone when the Blight dropped right onto his head.

He didn't expect anyone to fish him out of that ruin, least of all his father. It disturbed him in a way he couldn't describe, to think of him running through a burning slum in search of Dorian. Where there should be comfort, there was the feeling of being a commodity. Of course Magister Pavus could burn with his country- but his legacy must live on!

Perhaps he thought too ill of his father, Dorian didn't know. The tension in their relationship was unbearable and the Blight seemed to swallow any hope of reconciliation along with Tevinter. There was no time to speak while escaping it.

“You look like you're giving yourself a headache.” Felix smiled at him.

“And you're awake again.”

“As if anyone will let me sleep here.”

Dorian snorted, then looked down at the crying boy- finally not crying. Fast asleep for now, red-faced and clutching a scrap of paper. Dutifully, he folded this and made note to place it in his pack with his few belongings.

\--

Unable to sleep, Dorian sulked between Felix and the boy. He'd tucked the paper away and committed the name to memory- Titus Ahriman.

He considered venturing outside, however decided against it. The last thing he needed was a Templar to spot him skulking about and assume he was trying to run- as if there was anywhere to go. He felt he'd spiral into madness while he sat perfectly still with nothing to distract.

Eventually sounds leaked from outside; birds twittering- barely audible through thick walls, quiet chatter, a bustle of life. He seized the opportunity, grabbing his pack he yanked on the set of clean clothes that were always kept safe. Circumstances as they were, he still took pride in his appearance however he could. The elaborately decorated robes were the only set salvaged from Tevinter that held some grace- the last visible indication of his status as the son of a Magister.

The real indication was concealed beneath those layers, an amulet that cemented his birthright. A child of the Imperium, even if there was no Imperium left.

He underwent an eerie sensation, pressing his hand against the weighty trinket against his chest. Sighing, he pushed it from his mind and shoved open the iron door. There were a few grunts but otherwise no one protested as he stepped out.

Though it was early, the contrast between the apothecary's gloom and the light outside stunned him. It was clear the day had begun; a plated Templar shoved passed with a growl, there was movement all around, and Felix reported correctly.

A peculiar sight to be sure; Dalish aravels strewn about the trodden grounds of the Circle Tower, their flags of crimson, blue and green proudly rippling, Templars and Circle Mages spoke in hushed tones with robed Dalish elves who sometimes laughed or rolled their eyes. It would have been hopeful, even quaint, if he were unaware of how dire the situation was.

While contemplating when in the night their new friends arrived, Dorian made his way to the main entrance- a wide set of stone stairs that led to an equally enormous door.

The Tevinter refugees had no official status within the Circle yet were still expected to make use of themselves. At the beginning Dorian toiled fields, sheared vegetation and was a calamity in every kitchen. Surprising himself, he enjoyed how his hands calloused and his body firmed from the labour- but it was tedious and exhausting. Over the last month he was lucky, able to charm some Senior Enchanters into situating him at the library- his only refuge in the chaos.

A small crowd appeared to be waiting at the foot of the stairs. He recognised some as Tevinter refugees- some of the girls and a few of the boys that were housed elsewhere on the grounds. What caught his interest was a close-knit group at a distance from his peers. It took only a glance to realise they were Dalish. Dorian had never met any before today, so naturally he was curious.

He kept to one side, inspecting them. There were a few in robes of dark, earthy tones and a few in lighter green, but the group was predominantly made up of a clan dressed in white or grey- with an occasional accent of blue. While the Tevinter youngsters muttered anxiously and the other Dalish fidgeted, this majority stood solemn and rarely spoke.

Keeping a distance, he examined. Most were children, even younger than Titus, yet these small ones had the same disciplined air. There were a handful of adults but strangely those who took the authoritative, center stance couldn't have been older than Dorian.

Three- brothers, perhaps. All with dark hair and light eyes, pale robes, equally pale skin and motionless expressions. They were like ice sculptures of varying height, with hair of varying length. He was drawn to the tallest- taller than him. Holding back long hair was an ironbark circlet pocked with blue gems, marking him as leadership.

He told himself not to linger but as it occurred to him, the stranger's face tilted and locked eyes on Dorian. As if pierced by an icicle, he looked away and joined the rest of the Tevinter refugees with absolute nonchalance.

_Andraste's ashes! I've met warmer Tranquil._

“What's happening? Aren't we allowed to go inside?" He asked the closest person, a young girl.

"No. Grey Wardens arrived with the Dalish, and Kingsmen too. They want to set sail, to capture one of the Tevinter ports."

Dorian snorted. Of course after all that pride and bluster, Tevinter would permit the Wardens after all. He was about to ask another question when the doors were thrown open and out spilled a small contingent of Templars, along with other armoured men, some in the grey and blue of the Wardens. What interested him were the mages at the forefront, all shouting.

The loudest were from Alexius;

"You would give the Dalish free roam of our land while expecting us to sit here as prisoners!"

"Alexius, you know it is not as simple as that." His own father was here too. "We no longer have the numbers, or the infrastructure. Would you throw yourself to the abyss with nothing to gain? Would you throw your son?"

This caused Alexius to relent, posture sagging but expression enraged. Dorian strained to hear but was distracted by an uncomfortable tingle at the back of his head- was someone watching him?

His attention gravitated to the white-robed Dalish. They didn't appear to take notice of him. The tallest looked irate, muttering with his brothers.

"Magister Alexius." A new voice. Undoubtedly this was the mother of the tall Dalish. If the dark hair, cool features and style of dress didn't give that away, her staggering height certainly did. She dwarfed most of the men around her yet was so still and calm she was easy to overlook.

"The Blight threatens us all, and my people will not have free roam. We will operate under the Templars and the Wardens, and act only on their command."

The atmosphere was painful, Dorian could hardly stand it. He glanced around, seeing one grave face after another Of course he had to say something, anything!

"Well I for one am going to rest quite soundly in the knowledge that the Dalish will save Tevinter."

A few of the Tevinter refugees chuckled but Dorian focused on the flock of white robes. He'd hoped one would crack a smile. None did. They ignored him except the one in the ironbark circlet, who seemed to want to freeze Dorian with his stare.

_Perhaps I should not press my luck with him._

Alexius was screaming over the rest again and Dorian meant to listen, except Felix appeared at his side, guiding little Titus along by the hand. His friend was positively beside himself in exasperation.

"That's not my father yelling, is it?" His tone was so helpless Dorian couldn't help but laugh. The tension had been maddening and now it melted from him in ripples. Clearly he was too loud. Felix frowned and tried to shush him, a few people were looking his way. Titus started laughing too.

The brief revelry was swept away as if by a blizzard.

"Is there something amusing about this, Tevinter?" It was the tall Dalish, eyes sharp and unyielding. A familiar pang of shame bumped his chest but Dorian attempted to play it off.

"Is there anything about this that isn't amusing, truly?" His tone was jovial, determined to make peace with this elf for whatever perceived slight.

He remained a serious statue, not even directly addressing Dorian, instead speaking as if to highlight him as an example of how not to conduct oneself.

“They brought the Blight down on us twice and while the rest of us scramble to survive and shelter them, this Tevinter stands here and makes jokes.”

Dorian found himself instantly, irrationally angered.

"And do you know of what I've lost, Dalish?” He snapped back, shouldering passed Felix to close the gap between them.

“Nothing you deserved to have.” The words were harsh but the tone was hollow, everything about his demeanour could be described in a word- unmoved. Dorian disliked this even more.

"And so we deserved the Blight, then?" Surely no one could claim that? The majority of casualties after all had been the lower class! What debt could they have to pay the Dalish?

"You reap what you sow, Tevinter." Unmoved.

Outrage surged from within. People were welcome to hate him and his country, many had good reason! But to celebrate the destruction of thousands of innocent people's lives and label it punishment was an insult he couldn't stand.

Unfortunately what he said was;

"As do you, Dalish!" Which he immediately learned, was not something he should say to any Dalish, at any point. He was taught this through a blow to the face without ever seeing a fist. One second the tall Dalish was calm and serene, literally and figuratively looking down on him, then Dorian was reeling and several of the Tevinter boys lunged forward.

It was all so quick he barely understood. He was in the dust, clutching a bleeding mouth, bodies bashed into him or stepped over him. His heart hammered as he choked on earth, feeling as though a whole building crushed him beneath its weight.

There was a roar in his ears. _No, no, that's in my head_. Panic seized, he had a wild notion- to call for his father- instead he called for Felix.

Two hands were dragging him upwards- Felix- others were ripped apart by Templars barking for order.

A clear command rang out across the grounds.

"Eldest Brother Lavellan!"

Every Dalish halted, within their center stood two Templars facing down the tall youth- this Eldest Brother- motionless. Dorian noted with disdain that out of everyone, he was the most unruffled- though robes were askew and blood flecked his cheeks. Dorian's blood, he estimated.

Keeper Lavellan loomed and he noted her own ironbark circlet, adorned with miniature halla antlers. Fortunately her chilling glare was reserved for the Eldest Brother. Dorian now understood with a little amusement where the surly elf adopted his demeanour.

"You would shame your clan in such a way?" A simple statement but full of disappointment. The Eldest Brother seemed at a loss- at least for a second. There was so much rage and frustration in that frame, Dorian was sure he'd argue.

In a small motion the Eldest Lavellan slipped something from his belt and tossed it at his feet. Dorian only caught a glance but it appeared to be the hilt of a sword with no blade. A strange object and a strange gesture, especially how all at once he folded into himself until on hands and knees, practically kissing the ground.

There was something unsettling about it. Even with his pride and face throbbing, he felt sympathy. People whispered among themselves. Some were bold enough to state aloud;

"These are the savages you entrust this task to?"

"They can barely control their own!"

"Did she call him 'Eldest'? Maker! She expects that boy to lead?"

They were silenced by the shaking ball on the ground.

"I SHAME MYSELF, KEEPER!" The shout was full of a conviction and pride Dorian felt keenly. His emotions tilted between respect and dislike.

Before anything could be said, the figure unfurled, swiped the discarded object from the ground and hurried between the mess of bodies. One of his brothers moved to follow but was evaded and left with the rest.

"I thought elves liked you?" Felix joked, helping Dorian stand correctly while examining the split lip.

"Yes, well. Certainly not that one." He grumbled and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His heart felt heavy. He hadn't meant to cause such a stir and didn't dare look over his shoulder to see his father's expression.

_He's probably thinking "of course it's my son accosting the blighted Dalish!"_

At such shameful times it was Dorian's habit to feel for the amulet around his neck and beneath his clothes, its own weight mimicking the weight in his chest.

Fingers splayed but there was nothing there. His face fell.

"What's wrong?" Felix asked, touching Dorian's shoulder.

"My amulet, it's gone." He explained in a distant voice.

"What?" Felix was shocked. "You lost it in the fight? Maybe one of the Dalish took it?"

"And what use would they have for it?" He shook his head. No, he couldn't imagine any of those stern Dalish wanting to carry around a Tevinter amulet, even if it was to sell off, or to spite him. "It's probably just fallen somewhere."

The crowd was dispersing but no matter where they searched or what rocks they overturned, there was no sign of Dorian's birthright.  
  
  
\--

On his way to the library he had the misfortune of running into his father. Losing his amulet and arguing pointlessly with the Dalish had soured him, his father's face was the last he wanted to see. He did attempt to skirt around him, slip down the cavernous hall and continue upwards but it was no use- his arm was grabbed before he had the chance.

“Dorian, wait-”

“I'm quite busy,” Glowering, he yanked free but did indeed wait. “I have duties now, you know. You're not going to scold me for that thing with the Dalish, are you?”

“We won't be able to see each other for sometime. I merely wished to speak with you.”

“Well, we're speaking.” He folded his arms and waited.

“I will likely be sent to Orlais alongside some other Magisters, to coordinate efforts with the Wardens there.”

“You're going to Orlais?” His arms fell. “And leaving me here to the literal dogs?”

“I have no choice. The Circles are already displeased with the privileges they've been negotiated into extending. You must stay here, and set an example for the others.”

Nonsense, Dorian thought. What example could he set? He couldn't even tell a joke without someone walloping him. But the conversation reminded him of something important.

“Fine, fine, then let me ask you this- there's a young Titus Ahriman here. He hasn't seen his parents since they were taken into the Circle. Do you know anything I could tell him? A way to contact them?”

His father looked disturbed. Dorian's heart sank.

“What? What do you know?”

It was obvious Halward Pavus didn't want to speak of it, a deep sigh in his chest.

"As I understand it, Titus Ahriman senior fell to the Blight. His wife requested the Rite of Tranquillity not long after.”

A painful lump formed in Dorian's throat.

“What do I tell Titus?”

His father squeezed his shoulder, making steady eye contact.

“Tell him nothing.”

Neither spoke for some time. He disliked that answer. How could he tell him nothing after promising he would seek them out? Staring at the floor, he realised Magister Pavus was in turn staring at him, hand still on his son's shoulder. He shrugged it off.

“Well...is that all?”

It wasn't. There was much unsaid between them. However as he met his father's defeated gaze he knew it would remain that way.

_We will not talk about that, will we father? We won't talk about why you really came looking for me in Minrathous. We both know. And you will never say it. I see the guilt in your eyes every time I look at you._

“That is all. I will write you as soon as...”

Feet were already striding over stone, refusing to look back as he flew down the hall and up the last spiral. Maybe everything would be different if he said those things out loud- but to what end? The uncertain climate rendered everything from before irrelevant.

His thoughts were chaotic as he marched into a mostly-vacant library. Standing in the shadows of the old bookcases instilled some relief. The scent of worn parchment soothed him even when homesickness stirred beneath it,

Though he'd exaggerated to his father of his 'duties', there often wasn't much to do. If this were a regular day and more of the Senior Mages were present, they'd draft him into the business of researching the most ancient of Blights- what was story and what could be considered a true account. The outcome of such would lend much needed insight.

With the usual staff forging alliances and making arrangements, Dorian was free to do as he pleased. Aimless, he wandered the library, picking out books and flipping through them before delicately replacing them. Somehow among all this dry reading he located a book on Tevinter poetry and plopped himself down in an isolated corner.

Even this turned out to be dry reading, or perhaps it was the hollowness in every familiar word. Not even perceiving them as stanzas with meaning or care any more, instead they were blotches of ink that represented something long gone. It wasn't a book within his grasp but a tombstone and as the hours passed it felt as heavy, each verse an epitaph.

People filtered into the library and Dorian ignored them. He wasn't particularly focused on reading but he wasn't eager for conversation. It wasn't until he caught a few whispers of Dalish that he looked up to see three of the pale-robed youngsters huddled around a table, far from the other pockets of readers.

They were a little more excitable than Dorian remembered, perhaps because none of their elders were present. One of them, he noticed, spoke clumsily and sometimes made additions in the common tongue. Watching them, it was inevitable his thoughts drifted towards the Eldest Brother and their confrontation.

Cold, proud and clear intent in every gesture, not a single hair out of place and of course that ironbark circlet to crown the whole facade. Young and temperamental, yet he was still trusted by his people to lead- appointed by his own mother.

_You must stay here, and set an example for the others._

Dorian wondered if that was the kind of example Halward Pavus desired of his son. Uncompromising, harsh. Would he prefer Dorian to be humourless, to lead with force and discipline? If the roles had been reversed and it was Dorian who'd struck the Dalish over a silly joke, would that be more satisfactory?

He remembered Keeper Lavellan towering over them, voice thick with disapproval.

_I SHAME MYSELF, KEEPER!_

Perhaps, Dorian mused, if they swapped temperaments both their parents would be happy. Eldest Lavellan would have a sense of humour and Dorian could keep his mouth shut. Would that bring less shame to them all?

Weary of his own thoughts, he made a decision. He took to his feet and slowly approached the Dalish trio, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. They didn't notice him at first and one scuttled off to peruse a bookcase.

“Ah, hello...”

He swore he felt the temperature drop as the two looked at him but there was no aggression in their faces. They glanced at each other before scrutinising Dorian.

“You're that 'Vint Eldest Brother socked.”

“Fila!” The little elf gasped at his clan-sister. “Don't be rude! Keeper said!”

Fila puffed out her cheeks and slid down her chair

“It's quite alright,” Dorian laughed openly. “I am in fact, _that 'Vint_. I was actually hoping you could apologise to your Eldest Brother, on my behalf.”

They exchanged looks.

“Brother Amrallan said,” She puffed her cheeks again, repeating in a tone of unmatched seriousness. “Do not speak to your Eldest of this any further, it is not appropriate.”

 _But it was appropriate to hit me,_ Dorian thought. Aloud, he said;

“And who is Brother Amrallan?”

“Brother Amrallan is Eldest's older brother.”

He had to take a moment to digest the wording of this information.

“So the Eldest Brother....is not the eldest brother?”

“No, Eldest is like....teacher.” Fila supplied. “The Eldest takes care of all us others.”

Seeing as this one was happy to answer questions, Dorian couldn't help but press.

“And what was that thing he threw on the ground?”

“Lightbringer!” She chirped.

 _"Fila!_ ” Neither of them paid her clan-brother any mind.

“What is a Lightbringer, exactly?”

“A Sword of Faith! It has a spirit in it.”

Just as he was puzzling over this the third Lavellan rejoined them, almost losing several books when he realised who his clan-siblings were conversing with and what they were saying. He dropped the pile in a loud jumble on the table while scolding in his native tongue. Examining his features, Dorian vaguely recalled him as the smallest of the three brothers from earlier. Fila whined, a waterfall of broken Dalish rushing from her mouth. Soon the other joined her and they squabbled before the eldest turned to Dorian. While he spoke, he yanked a book for each child onto the table, arranging them open as if to build a wall.

“We are here to gather information and should not be speaking.”

His excuse was solid enough but the contempt was obvious- _stop asking questions, Tevinter._

“I apologise for the interruption,” Dorian backed away, only pausing to tack on. “You wouldn't happen to have seen a Tevinter amulet lying around, would you?”

The young elf regarded Dorian with a disgust reserved for vermin. Smiling sheepishly, Dorian slunk to his original seat, totally unfulfilled by the experience. Maybe one of them would pass along his apology but he doubted it. From what he could tell, the only reason Fila had been so willing to speak was because she hadn't been with the Dalish as long as the others. That brought up more questions but it wasn't as though any of them would answer.  
  
  
\--

Hours dragged by and as usual Dorian was one of the few who remained in the library, not tempted by the thought of an itchy bed. By this time whenever he felt especially morose- not every night - he'd steal into the stash of wine he knew a Senior kept behind a bookcase. It provided more warmth than the apothecary could and he carried that warmth with him as he left the tower. He was always tempted to stash himself in the library too but never enough to earn the attention of the morning Templar patrols.

Leisurely he made his way across the grounds, enjoying the heat in the air and his stomach as it dwindled. A murky calm settled over him, not thinking of his amulet or his father or the Dalish or Titus.

A soft tune hummed nearby, barely audible. For a long while Dorian thought he was imagining it. Senses blanketed by a drunken haze, his feet moved without thought, ears trained on the song. A lullaby? Not in any language he knew but the soothing intent was palpable.

The singer wasn't particularly skilled but there was a simple comfort that drew him in. He barely thought of his mother these days- it was too painful on top of everything else- but he thought of her now. Before the estrangement between them and before her death, she used to sing for him.

The song ended mid-note.

Dorian blinked like a person out of possession. What he saw drained all the warmth from him. His blind feet and inebriated mind had brought him to the head of an aravel and sitting atop it, mobbed by a group of half-slumbering children, was Eldest Brother Lavellan. Conversely, this was when Dorian remembered the eyes of an elf reflect light- like a group of fireflies they flickered as he was examined.

Both were paralysed. This actually served to calm Dorian as he absorbed the Eldest Brother's features. Where he expected cold there was surprise and an unexpected vulnerability. Neither spoke. Dorian didn't breathe.

_Oh Maker, say something! Don't just look at me like I stepped on your foot!_

Lavellan said nothing and his expression didn't change. Dorian told himself he should move his legs and not his mouth but of course it was the latter that found conviction.

“That was a lovely song. I've never heard a lullaby like it.”

Dorian was sure he'd die from shame at the foot of the aravel. Finally, something unreadable flashed over the other boy's face.

“I was singing for the children.” His tone was bland but Dorian was so accustomed to unsaid slights that he couldn't help but hear an implied _which you are not._

“Well, I'm sorry for disturbing you...”

He shuffled off, not waiting for a reply. On his way to the apothecary that gentle song picked up again and Dorian felt burdened. He couldn't bear the idea of sitting in the dark, shutting out one of the few small comforts to bring him peace all day.

_I'm just drunk._

Even so he diverted his path around the apothecary and slipped through the shadows until he could reach a crumbling wall near the aravel. Feeling strangely like a thief, he curled up between the wall and the vessel to listen to the Dalish lullaby.

He planned to return to the apothecary once the song was done but drifted away with the notes.

\--  
  
  
“This is not the best place for you to sleep.”

A cheerful voice startled him awake. Seeing pale robes and dark hair, Dorian's instinct was to raise his arms while yelping.

“Oh, Maker! Don't hit me!”

But the voice laughed and he knew it couldn't be the Eldest Brother. The world swam into focus. Early morning, still very dim. Chill pricked his face but a pile of furs inexplicably cloaked him, shielding him from the worst. The speaker was one of the Lavellan brothers indeed- but not the Eldest and not the small one from the library.

“I would do no such thing.” He assured while Dorian found his wits. “My brother would not either, usually. But I am afraid these are quite trying times.”

Dorian rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scrutinised this other Lavellan. While the Eldest Brother was a living winter, his sibling contained all the brightness of spring. There was an easy smile on his face and his eyes shone, he spoke in a manner that was open and pleasant.

“Are you Amrallan, by any chance?”

“I am indeed.” That bright smile grew ever brighter and Dorian scrutinised him. They _looked_ blood related. “And might I ask your name?”

“I am Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous- when there was such a place.”

Amrallan gave a cordial bow of his head.

“It is a pleasure, Dorian Pavus. I truly am sorry for my brother's behaviour yesterday”

“Do you apologise for him often?” Dorian was genuine, thinking how often friends and parents apologised on his behalf.

“He can be impulsive,” Amrallan admitted with another laugh. “Though that is the first time since we were children that he started a brawl.”

“You could have done more to stop him.” He mostly joked.

Amrallan raised a brow, half-smiling.

“You did not see me trying?”

All he'd seen was the Eldest Brother's face- then his fist. He shook his head.

“Oh? Neither of you seemed to notice me.”

All over again Dorian felt embarrassed, trying to redirect the conversation.

“I'm not angry at him, you know.”

“You would have a right to be. And though I doubt you will ever hear it from him, I know he is sorry. In actuality, I think the two of you could be quite good friends.”

He couldn't help but scoff.

“Your brother doesn't seem like someone who would befriend a _'Tevinter_ '.”

“Perhaps not,” His head tilted as he gave Dorian a curious look. “but perhaps you will humour me. If he returns from this journey alone, you will keep an eye on him for me, yes?”

He wasn't sure he heard right, knitting his brow as he tried to understand this request, then struggling to question politely.

“You ask this of the stranger he attacked?”

“I can think of no one more appropriate.” The answer was prompt and said as simply as the smile across his features. Before Dorian could say more two figures joined them by the aravel. He recognised both- the Eldest Lavellan and the youngest of the trio.

“Brother.” The Eldest called with an edge to his voice.

“Brother!” Amrallan did not mimic that edge, beaming as he pointed out Dorian. “This is Dorian Pavus.”

The only indication he gave of noting Dorian's presence was the mildest shift of pupils.

“We have preparations to make.” He stated blandly.

“Of course, of course.”

They couldn't get away fast enough. Except for Amrallan, who lingered to tell Dorian;

“You can keep the furs, but you should move from here. And please, consider my request.”

On his way to the apothecary, bundled in furs, he considered that all of clan Lavellan were really quite strange. He was barely fit to take care of himself or _'set an example'_ , let alone keep an eye on someone who hated him. Yet when he thought of Amrallan's sunny smile it was so sincere his chest ached.

Was he truly so afraid of his brother being left alone that he'd reach out to the only outsider he'd said a word to, even if those words had been hateful?

Shoving open the apothecary door he collapsed onto the nearest empty hay-pile. It was warmer and more comfortable with the furs, by far. He appreciated them and dozed until a voice roused him.

“Where have you been?” It was Felix.

“I fell asleep outside. If I'd known someone would give me extra blankets I might have tried that sooner.”

His friend snorted while shuffling closer, speaking quietly.

“They're making final arrangements after all. Titus won't be going with his parents, you'll have to watch him.”

Dorian feigned a groan, pretending to wonder why that was his responsibility. He didn't really mind but if people thought that, he'd be crowded by children everywhere he went much like the Eldest Brother. Felix, knowing this, ignored him.

_Well, if there's anytime to mention it..._

“I heard something on his parents, actually.”

“Oh?”

“It wasn't good.”

“Oh.”

He whispered an explanation and for a while neither knew what to say.

“You probably shouldn't tell him.” Felix decided.

“Really?” Dorian surveyed him. “Wouldn't you want to know?”

“When things settle down, but not now.”

That seemed reasonable though Dorian always tilted towards honesty. Mulling it over, something occurred to him.

“Wait, you said Titus is staying- but what about you?”

He gave a sad smile that made Dorian recall Amrallan.

_Why can't I stop thinking of the blighted Dalish?_

“I'm going with my father to Orlais.”

Even with him still there Dorian felt the loss instantly. Felix was the only peer he'd considered a genuine friend. Contact between them now was sporadic and rare so Dorian spent much of his time alone. To lose his singular comrade so soon hurt more than the knowledge his own father was leaving him behind.

It must have been written on his face because Felix was swift to console, holding his shoulder as he rambled.

“It won't be so awful- Titus is here, and a sizable amount of the Tevinter refugees will stay. And you're already making friends! Who did this come from?” He was laughing as he tugged the furs. “You have an admirer, I think. This is good material. Someone is colder because of you.”

Felix continued so he must have still been frowning, though he did think it a little funny and was sure he smiled.

“They say they're going to make us all full members of the Circle. Surely they'll be more lax with communication after that?”

“Yes, I suppose.” He made an effort to sound certain. “And I suppose that means we'll be expected to undergo their Harrowing.”

“As soon as possible, I hear. Though they'll want us to study first, measure our capabilities. It's going to be a lot of going over things we already know to make sure we know them, I think.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow, with the Wardens and the Dalish.”

There was really only one thing to say.

“You'll stay safe, yes?”

“You too, Dorian.” Grinning, he added. “And stay out of trouble.”  
  
  
\--  
  
  
Later that morning Felix departed to make travel preparations with the rest. Templars, mages, Wardens and Dalish all scrambling to organise. The grounds were hectic and when Dorian approached the tower he was told by a stern Templar that refugees not preparing were disallowed until given permanent assignment.

Returning to the apothecary, he was at a loss. Titus was in a similar state except he'd resigned to sitting in the dirt, forming blobs of ice in his hands which he shaped into clumsy sculptures of wolves or horses. At least that's what Dorian thought they were.

“You're not bad at that.” He commented, also resigning himself to the ground.

“It's so slippery but I'm not good with rock.”

“Me neither, it's so cumbersome.”

Splaying his hands, he concentrated until a thin slab of ice slowly materialised, balanced on his fingertips. Titus observed wide-eyed as various tiny figures sprouted; kings and knights and little soldiers rising on a lined battlefield.

“Do you know chess?” He grinned at the impressed youth while placing the glassy structure between them.

“I do, but it's going to melt.”

“A timed challenge, more interesting that way!”

Titus was convinced by that and soon they were eagerly absorbed. As expected the boy was well-educated by his parents in Tevinter. He had a fair grasp of the game for his age, similar to himself, Dorian had to admit. After some time a tiny group of refugees gathered and when the board dripped, someone would reach forward and solidify it with a ripple of magic. In this fashion they extended the game without incident, even with a few shavings hanging off.

They mostly played in silence. Sometimes there was a murmur or people whispered advice to Titus, which Dorian pretended not to see. Occasionally he'd glance around to find less activity in the area as duties were concluded. On one instance he caught sight of some of the Lavellan clan, the Eldest Brother among them with a few youngsters. The children were gesturing to the board and the Eldest was saying something patiently.

His eyes returned to the game but his thoughts lingered.

_Do they want to play? They seem more interested in the magic itself._

“Dorian?” Titus asked suddenly, his tone reproachful. Dorian guessed he'd been waiting for the crowds to disperse.

“Is something wrong?”

“Did you hear anything about my parents?” He asked, face twisted.

“Ah...No, not yet.” It felt wrong but was the first thing that sprang to mind. Confirming his regret, Titus was unconvinced.

“You said something to Felix! I heard it.”

“Oh, right.” This was why he hated lying about something so important, he wasn't any good unless he was blurting out truths or jokes. “I forgot about that. I think my father said everyone would hear personal news soon, something like that.”

“You're lying!” Titus had been as cool as their makeshift chessboard but apparently this was something he couldn't tolerate, stomping onto his feet. In any other situation he would have been amused to be talked down to by a child. In this one every word shamed him.

“I'm not lying- not exactly.” They would tell him eventually, wouldn't they? If they hadn't, Dorian would by then. However he found this very difficult to explain to a red-faced little boy full of tears and hot air. Child-rearing had never been a necessary skill and he'd found himself responsible over Titus by sheer misfortune.

“You're lying! You said you'd help but you're another liar!” He yelled as he bolted, knocking over the board. Dorian fell over himself to react, speeding after him. He collided into one person, evaded another, almost fell and for the second time found himself stumbling in front of the Lavellan Clan. Mostly children, they stared with timid curiosity through the cold that seemed to emanate.

Titus had apparently rammed into the Eldest Brother. The tall elf stood with a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder, looking down in surprise.

“This one is yours?” His eyes found Dorian.

“Maker! Not by any stretch of the imagination!” He laughed uncomfortably.

The Eldest Brother seemed to think he'd offended, adding;

“You are taking care of him?”

“That's more accurate, in any case.” Before he could stew in the awkwardness of the situation or coax Titus over, the boy was wailing. Why he'd concluded the Eldest Lavellan was the person to cry to, Dorian couldn't fathom. Any reservation the target felt towards this was hidden by his usual mask.

“I don't want to go with him! He lied to me! He won't tell me where my parents are!”

While this was taking place the well-behaved Lavellan children looked on sympathetically. Dorian supposed they had to have their tantrums, sometimes. Their Eldest Brother certainly didn't always contain himself.

“Titus- listen- I'm sorry about this-” He approached with words spilling. Eldest Lavellan glanced between them and crouched to Titus's level, brushing robes aside as he knelt.

“What was the last thing your mother said to you?” He asked the boy directly and gave him time to remember. Since Titus was calm, Dorian didn't intervene.

“She said...I had to be strong. And brave. It would be okay if I was good.”

“She needed you to be strong, she still does. Dorian knows this, so he cannot tell you the truth.”

There was a quiet moment of understanding between them and Dorian wondered at the fact the Eldest Lavellan actually remembered his name. He was almost flattered- a little.

He straightened and Titus returned to Dorian, though muttering;

“You still shouldn't have lied.”

“I know, I'm very sorry.” He said genuinely, taking Titus's hand. Attention darting to Lavellan, he smiled.

“I seem to be at a disadvantage. You have a name, don't you?”

He was regarded with the typical coolness. He beamed, deciding he didn't mind.

“I am called Eldest Lavellan.”

“That doesn't get confusing? You must have a name other than that.”

“It is not confusing. If someone says 'Eldest', they are referring to me.”

“That might function among your clan, but it might be confusing for the rest of us.”

Eldest Lavellan's head tilted and Dorian swore there was the ghost of a smile.

“How appropriate then, that most of us are leaving.”

“Ah, be that way!” Oddly satisfied, he grinned through the iciness. “I should thank you, anyway. I don't have much experience with children.”

“It is good he is not alone.” There was just a little bit of approval in his voice- Dorian didn't think he was imagining it. He had a sense this was as friendly as the Eldest dared get however, as he turned away a second later, muttering. “But I must tend to my own.”

“You feel that cold, don't you?” Dorian mused once he was sure they were out of earshot. “I'm not imagining it, am I? They all have some sort of aura on them.”

“I thought so.” Titus offered, watching them leave.

“And _that's_ who you ran to?”

“You weren't going to listen! He seemed like he'd listen.”

Dorian huffed but patted Titus amiably on the back.

“Well I _am_ very sorry. When all this is over, we'll talk about your parents. But for now, Titus, we have to be strong, yes? We have to set an example.”

Titus seemed to take that as well as Dorian did when he heard it. Brooding, he gave a stubborn nod and allowed himself to be steered back to the apothecary and their half-melted chessboard.

\--

Cold bit into his skin and the night's gloom still clung to the sky, everything drenched in long shadows and glowing dark blue. Yet in this stillness all was movement; soldiers clattered in their armour and people ran with arms full of last minute supplies, aravels even groaned into motion, halla led carefully along. Some bayed while they shook morning dew from their coats.

Dorian could have nestled in the relative cosiness of the apothecary but he wouldn't miss the chance to send off his friend. They walked together through the fray with Titus by Dorian's side, unable to sleep through the excitement. They did their best to stay out of everyone's way, conversing and waiting for the mass of people to form lines of departure.

“I wish I was going with you.”

“Me too. What will you do to keep yourself busy, surrounded by rain and dogs?”

“They still have wine, at least.”

“You'll drink that pond-water?”

“It's all the same once your taste-buds have gone numb, you know.”

Laughing, they paused to allow an aravel to glide passed. The Dalish were pulling into formation.

“I can't help but think my father didn't want me to go, or he'd have insisted somehow.” He tried not to let it bother him. He'd even tried to see the bright side- the only one who could scold him relentlessly over his missing Birthright was himself.

“Really? But why? I don't know what my father said but he's not beyond theatrics. It was probably just easier to keep him quiet. Your father isn't like that.”

“True,” He had to begrudgingly agree. “But I think he's afraid of what I might say to him, if I thought I had the chance.”

“What would you say?”

Touching the issue set the conflict ablaze in Dorian's chest.

“I don't think I want to talk about that, actually.”

“Really?” Felix raised a brow. “Are you sure? You know this might be the last we see each other for a long time.”

“Yes. And I don't want it to be the last thing we talk about.” Wrapping an arm easily around Felix's shoulders, he guided him away from the aravel. Felix nodded his understanding and they continued to chat.

The aravel was rolling towards the gates and Titus perked up to gesture near them. Clan Lavellan were already gathered, senior members surrounded by children and those who would remain. There was an amusing atmosphere of solemnity and animation- younger and more excitable clan members cried, embracing their seniors and tugging their robes. The three Lavellan brothers stood in the centre of this chaos and were the most accosted, their mother dutifully behind.

Dorian couldn't understand what was primarily chanted but his instinct told him _Lightbringer_. He was satisfied to see this confirmed when Keeper Lavellan whispered something to her Eldest and he, with the mildest twinge of resignation, slipped the object from its belt and held it skywards.

A luminescent glow emerged, flourishing into a shining blade. Children yelled in glee and almost knocked the Eldest over, the blade wavering. Next to him his brothers were laughing, the youngest fighting not to. Dorian was intrigued by the object itself, examining the runes emblazoned along its silverite hilt. He'd never seen anything like it and yet the patterns and intent were so familiar.

Titus was making different observations;

“That many of them are going? All those are seniors?”

Felix nodded.

“Even them?” He pointed out the Lavellan trio and some of the others. Quite a few of those considered 'seniors' were closer to their age than any senior. The youngest Lavellan brother could only be a few sparse years above Titus.

“For the Lavellan Clan, they're considered seniors. They're sending their most skilled.” Felix informed.

“Their entire leadership is going.” Dorian's attention was successfully obtained.

“I think the Circle is reluctant to take in any of them. This was their compromise. Anyone capable will fight.” His pitiable tone echoed Dorian's feelings.

“Leave any apostates who might have learned some bad habits to the wolves and indoctrinate the vulnerable. The Circle does stay on it's toes.”

Watching the Eldest Lavellan sheath Lightbringer and embrace the children alongside his family tied a knot in Dorian's belly. Not knowing them particularly well didn't matter- he mourned that he may never see them again the way he mourned over his friend's absence. Turning away, he smiled bitterly towards Felix.

“You'll write me the moment you're able, and I'll do the same.”

“Of course!” Reflecting the fragility of Dorian's smile, he hugged him tight. Pulling away, he crouched to Titus's level and they exchanged tearful goodbyes, Titus wailing even though he'd specifically promised not to. Dorian managed to disentangle the two, holding and reassuring the boy so Felix could fall into procession unheeded.

They sat in the dirt and watched for a long time as the river of people emptied from the grounds, marching down hills and across an ancient bridge until they disappeared into mist.

\--

Over the next few months the Circle made good on their promises. Dorian, the remaining refugees and Dalish were moved inside or to adjacent towers. Study and testing on the basic principals and application of magic began immediately, taken alongside the Ferelden mages.

The lessons were mostly dull, everything Dorian had learned before. However he couldn't turn his nose up at a warm bed, even if it was in the bunks with the other apprentices. Titus was better cared for, now under the wing of the Senior Mages assigned to the youngest. They were housed on the same floor so Dorian ensured he was nearby if needed.

Basic comforts were supplied and he was grateful for routine but the lack of information frustrated him. All he or any of the apprentices knew was that a port city in Tevinter had indeed been captured and was held. There wasn't news on casualties. He'd hoped others outside of Ferelden would know more but when he was finally allowed correspondence with Felix, he only added that Orlais would be committing a greater magical effort.

An answer came in some form one day when he was bringing in a herb-basket from the grounds, aiming to walk up the tower stairs when the shriek of the old gate startled him. He was intrigued, visitors not a common occurrence.

As the gate whined into motion it became evident this was the return of some volunteers. At the head was a collection of Templars and Wardens, with lines of mages and Dalish around them. Unthinking, Dorian's eyes searched for white robes and his chest hurt as he counted so few.

One of those he counted was moving however. Long, meaningful strides, arms sweeping away a Templar who tried to stop him. Eldest Lavellan parted from the stream of people and marched for the tower door with his younger brother at his heels. Dorian saw two things quickly- Amrallan and Keeper Lavellan were not with them.

And the Eldest Brother was wearing his mother's circlet.

The halla antlers were unmistakeable and as the two passed, he saw the youngest was now wearing the Eldest's circlet.

He processed this in a moment and stood frozen. By the time he thought to move, the rest of the crowd caught up to the stray elves and were shoving passed Dorian. He stood aside, thoughts spinning.

_It's not your business though, is it?_

He tried to reason with himself but the attachment would not tear. There was no use in following that crowd though. Likely negotiations of some kind were afoot. Dorian's presence would be unwanted and inappropriate. Talking sense into himself, he rushed to the stockroom with the basket as originally intended.

Despite all his efforts he couldn't banish the Lavellan Clan from his mind. Amrallan's tragic smiles kept appearing to him, his bizarre request taunting all afternoon. When he was finally released from his duties he returned to the entrance hall and sat with a book, as inconspicuous as could be.

He couldn't imagine what was being discussed in the conference hall somewhere high in the tower but had a hunch the Eldest Lavellan- or was it Keeper now?- would find the company of the Circle Mages and the looming walls intolerable in his incensed state.

After a few hours of pretending to read he started to doubt his assumptions and was considering to outright search for Eldest- Keeper Lavellan- when a whirlwind of dusty robes stormed down the hall. Not even noticing Dorian, he threw himself outside and the doors slammed behind him.

He did not follow right away, expecting someone to trail after Lavellan. When no one appeared he exited the tower, thinking to shadow the elf wherever he'd wandered to. If the Lavellan aravel was still present that would be the first place he looked. Of course the flattened earth where it had stood was empty. As far as Dorian knew it had been utilised for transport then left at a Circle nearer the coast.

Roaming the grounds brought him back to the garden he often worked in. Most of the grids of herbs were empty now but the streams of irrigation still flowed from the regular rainfall. They pooled together in the middle of the garden from the slope in the land, forming a green-tinted pond,

There he saw Lavellan. His white figure was crumpled at the waters edge, bent as if in one of those exaggerated bows, arms curled in prayer or held against his chest. Dorian saw the shake in his back and the unkempt wisps of hair and knew he was crying, which caused him to hesitate. It's not as if he hadn't been privy to crying men, women, children, warriors and servants alike. He'd witnessed plenty of that since the Blight.

Yet still it disturbed him to see someone his imagination regarded so loftily reduced to this. Even more disturbing was the sudden knowledge that he'd apparently held Lavellan to this idealistic standard.

Amrallan's face swirled in his thoughts again and he strengthened himself, calling softly.

“Keeper Lavellan?” He hoped this calculated show of respect would be taken well. The elf was statuesque for a moment, even his tremulous frame ceased. He peered at Dorian above his shoulder, eyes tinged a raw red.

“Leave me.” He rasped. If he meant to envelope Dorian in his icy demeanour it was failing. He continued gently.

“I did not know your mother, but I could tell she was a formidable woman. Dutiful. I think she was very proud of you. And Amrallan...I spoke to him once, you remember? He was sincerely one of the nicest people I've ever met. The world is darker for his loss, and I will grieve him.”

All the while Lavellan's tearful eyes barely seemed to perceive him but he must have heard. With a sniff he lowered his face while whispering.

“Thank you.” And after a moment, voice weak. “Please, leave me now.”

Nodding respectfully, he did so.

For years, that would be the last time they truly spoke.


	2. A Dalish Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 0.5) The first of Lavellan's side-chapters: the destruction of his clan.

_A meeting of seniors had been called after the first Darkspawn attack._

_They'd lost a good portion of their clan, some of them children- as they had many young mages within their ranks. The cast-offs from Dalish clans overburdened by magic, or runaways from the city who'd evaded the Circle. All his brothers and sisters, many of them dead before learning to cast a real spell._

_He was their Eldest and he could do nothing but protect those still capable of running._

_And so his mother and Keeper, Verillana Lavellan, proposed something that enraged their First;_

“ _Tevinter has fallen, and the influence of the Archdemon grows. These raids, though appearing mindless, are nothing less than the creature stretching it's feelers, testing it's influence. We cannot underestimate the damage to the Veil amongst all this death and suffering- nor can we know what tactics Tevinter employed that have caused further damage. Make no mistake, though our disciplines have offered us protection over the years, the risk now is unprecedented._

_I know many of you will despise what I am about to say, but in a Blight we must act on necessity. There is only one place in Ferelden that might offer us protection and an opportunity to turn the tide."_

_Atvin was in an uproar._

_"You would have us betray hundreds of years of independence and tradition to go hide with people who will wipe us out or enslave us as Tranquil!"_

_The uproar spread. The Eldest Brother was in turmoil as he fled from the tent to sit alone under the stars. For hours he half-listened to the debate, until his mother joined him. The lines around her eyes were more visible but her stony countenance had the strength it always did. People often said they held the same expression. He almost smiled at her._

_"Da'len," She broke the silence suddenly. "Do you know why we take in so many others, at risk to ourselves?"_

_He didn't have to think about the answer._

_"It is our duty. It is how we serve our people, as we have for generations. Since the fall of Elvhenan."_

_"And do you understand why I wish to seek out the Circle?"_

_"In a Blight, we must all serve, regardless of clan or blood. If one falls, we all fall."_

“ _And Tevinter has fallen." The Dalish would not miss the Imperium but it's destruction was significant to all of Thedas, whether or not anyone would admit it._

_They were silent for a time, watching the stars until Verillana spoke._

_"Tell me, what is it you wish from this life? You have always been very dutiful, perhaps too much so."_

_"To serve, Keeper," There was no hesitation, not in his voice and not in his heart._

_"Of course, that has always been your nature." She chuckled._

_They observed small, grey clouds drift passed the moon._

_"You have been our Eldest Brother since you crafted Lightbringer and bound your will to her. You are young, but you are our Eldest because of your strength and willingness to serve. I regret placing so much responsibility on you, but I need you to serve your people still."_

_"You need only to ask, Keeper."_

_"Tomorrow, Atvin will leave. Many will follow him. They refuse to be burdened by any of our young ones. They admonish me for turning my back on tradition while doing the same. But this is why we must go to the Circle. Even if most of us could survive the wilderness, the untested young will not._

_"You are our Eldest, now you must act as my First. I ask this of you, because I believe that whatever the future brings, you are the one who will do what is necessary to ensure the survival of our clan, of our teachings. It saddens me greatly to entrust this onto you, da'len. But it must be you."_

_There were no words for that moment. Without them, he shifted onto his knees and bowed low, until he felt the dew of the grass touch his forehead._

–-

"That Tevinter is quite handsome, is he not, Eldest?"

Though the others were distracted, of course his blood-brother would notice his glances. He shifted his gaze.

"Do not say such nonsense, Amrallan."

"I only meant it would not be inappropriate to speak with him, if you wished it."

"If I speak with him it will be to ask why his countrymen are all such fools."

Villyen, the youngest, chortled between them, only half-listening.

"He might agree with you, if you would speak to him."Amrallan pressed.

"And why must I speak with him?" He growled. His brother said nothing more.

Everything about the situation disturbed him. The Templars, the Circle Mages, the discussion of war and refuge. He didn't need the additional concern of his wandering eye, nor his brother's misplaced encouragement. Failing to juggle all these concerns, he'd snapped.

The Eldest Lavellan had to set an example, he told himself. That example would not be to fraternise with people who unleashed doom upon them all, or to be distracted by childish whims while their world was burning

Even as he knelt, dubbed a barbarian and cloaked in shame, he told himself it was better that way, to be seen as an uncompromising savage rather than-

Something caught his eye. Raised as a scavenger and nomad, it was mere reflex that possessed his hand- with a discrete swipe the object was nestled within his robes, not knowing what it was as he shoved his way out of the crowd.

Once he found a dark corner beneath a crumbling wall, he sat and unveiled the object. It was heavy for something so small- a bright, polished amulet, adorned with delicate carvings in the style and language of Tevinter. Fixated, he rubbed along the surface with his thumbs. The Dalish were skilled in craftsmanship but truly the Eldest Brother had never seen or held anything of such beauty and obvious value.

Panic charged through him- this must have fallen from that _'handsome'_ Tevinter. He held tight, thoughts scrambling as he considered how to even begin returning it. But as he sat there with the metal absorbing his warmth, a strange sensation whirled in his chest- nauseating, yet comforting.

He pocketed the amulet without questioning himself.

It's weight pressed against his chest as he returned to his clan. The Tevinter did not think to look at him.

\--

It was the morning after their tipsy intruder stumbled upon their aravel in the dark that Amrallan came to him with a calculating smirk he disliked. The Eldest Brother was sitting at their campfire on the opposite side to where the Tevinter had fallen asleep, cutting carrots and tossing them into a pot to stew through the morning. It was dreadfully cold.

“That Tevinter is sleeping outside the aravel.” Amrallan's eyes were coy, the Eldest disliked that too.

“Is he?” Feigning ignorance, he concentrated on carrots and shooed away a pair of little hands that sought to grab one. “No, Fila. You must wait.”

“You pretend not to know, yet he has your blanket.”

“The fool would die from cold and his countrymen would blame us.” He explained without missing a beat.

“Or perhaps you feel guilty for stealing from him.”

Eldest froze, his brother grinned. The half-asleep Fila began chirping.

“Eldest _stole something!_ What would Eldest steal!”

“I did no such thing.” He stated firmly.

Amrallan's tone matched the usual authority of his brother's as he told Fila;

“Go see to Villyen. He takes too long.”

She whined and kicked as she went but still she went, leaving the two brothers to face each other. One with all the playfulness of spring and the other, the frigidity of winter.

“He dropped it.” The Eldest confessed finally, Amrallan practically hooted, seriousness melting.

“I knew it! Why have you not given it to him? Oh, you must, really, Eldest Brother. You know what it is, surely?” He was extremely animated as he talked, which was rare to this extent even for Amrallan.

“A glorified passport?” He answered sulkily and resumed slicing.

“It is more than that and you know it, or you would have tossed it! It is as much a part of him as Lightbringer is a part of you.”

Snarling, he reached into his robes and pulled the amulet from its hiding place under the many layers. He thrust it towards his brother.

“Take it to him.”

“I will not!” Amrallan laughed as he refused and laughed harder at the dismay. “You will give it to him yourself, or you can keep it and let it drive you mad!”

Returning his arm to himself, the amulet dangled below his dumbstruck expression. The other elf shook his head compassionately.

“Lightbringer may favour you, brother, but you truly are such a child.” The words were said with affection and though his face flushed, he allowed what might be perceived as insult. Anything he said at this point, he felt, could only worsen whatever suspicions Amrallan had.

Defeated, he looped the amulet around his neck once more and concealed it. All the while Amrallan observed with that coy expression he disliked.

“Do you know his name?” He asked abruptly. To this, the Eldest could only throw down vegetable and knife in frustration, swearing. Amrallan tutted at him.

“I have never known you to be such a coward, Eldest Brother.” With that final taunt, Amrallan wandered to the other side of the aravel to do what his Eldest would not.

_Brother! This is Dorian Pavus._

_Dorian Pavus.  
  
  
\--_

A bizarre scenario swirled through the mist of his waking thoughts. Beneath his fingers lay ornate metal, upon his chest as always. He probed along it's fine detail and imagined returning from the chaos of war to seek out it's owner.

_I kept it safe and it kept me strong. Thank you._

Once he fully regained consciousness, he was horrified- though didn't remove the amulet.

Why must he think these things of someone he'd known less than three days? Of a shem and a Tevinter, no less? In the past, such thoughts had never been so persistent. Yet now, just a glance and he was transfixed. The guilt of his actions fermented with his intrigue as he replayed their every exchange.

He remembered singing for him from the aravel while reassuring himself.

_I am not singing for him, I am just singing. That he wants to sleep on the ground and believe I cannot see him is his own foolishness._

But how could he believe himself, when he'd slunk from the aravel to tuck him in furs and stood marvelling at how someone so free and alive could exist in such a world? When he held that memory as precious and invaluable as the ill-gotten amulet?

He was almost relieved to be tossed into the fray. While he fought for his life, he could not think about the amulet. He thought only of raining down hail, slicing through flesh, shattering enemies into dozens of bloody pieces.

Whenever alone, he fidgeted with it and imagined a hundred scenarios that had no basis in reality, painful and strengthening all at once. He told himself that at least his mind seized upon some distraction amidst the death.

Finally they received word. If they held their position for another week the majority of the Dalish would be allowed to shelter back in the Circle, to be replaced by Senior Mages primarily from Orlais.

That night they were besieged worse than ever before.

The Wardens themselves had noted the Lavellan Clan's usefulness against the Darkspawn; many of the disciplines they'd passed on for survival focused on dispelling and managing arcane forces, whether from themselves, other mages or the Fade. Their mastery over ice as both a destructive power and a defensive mechanism had also proven invaluable.

So as much as it worried the Eldest Brother, it was no surprise when the Templars and Wardens demanded their presence at every needed point of defence. Against his wishes, his mother in turn demanded he and Villyen be where the risk was lowest, whereas she and Amrallan would hold the main wall. Even this caused a stir, as those in command wished to utilise Lightbringer's warding abilities. Keeper Verillana managed to dissuade them;

“Amrallan and myself are more than enough to hold your gate. For Lightbringer to be dragged in is almost insulting.” She'd said it so icily that of course they believed.

But he understood. Her thoughts were on the survival of their clan.

Though thankful for his strategic perch atop the wall with Villyen and a few other mages, he was terrified. Even furthest from the mass of Darkspawn, they were relentless. Archers and mages fought their utmost but the enemy still swarmed the warriors below. Eldest Lavellan cast one blockade of ice after the other, poured all his will into each and saw them destroyed by the horde like cheap glass. He contained his adrenaline well but several times Villyen became frantic and had to be urged between spells.

“Remember Amrallan! Remember mother! You must not break!”

Gradually the young mage would locate his senses and set to laying down ice, freezing Darkspawn feet to the ground so their soldiers could slice through with ease. It was never enough, the shadowy mass kept pushing, inching their warriors towards the wall.

“We need Lightbringer down there!” Someone shouted from the nearby ladder and was gone. The urgency was undeniable.

“No no no! Eldest please!”

“I must! And you will defend me from here!”

The desperation in his voice empowered the little elf, watery eyes determined as they swept over the battlefield. The Eldest Brother moved as fast as his limbs knew, down the ladder, through the gap in the portcullis left for him and into the break in the line.

He did not think. He could not afford to. If he let himself think, he'd gag on the stench of iron and death.

“To me!” With a single motion Lightbringer was in the air, an almost-blinding beacon. The nearest ghouls relented with a shriek. A pulse of cool wind swept around him and he knew Villyen was there, strengthening his aura so the surrounding creatures would be especially sluggish.

Those in his immediate vicinity huddled close and pushed the line with him. Others hesitated, looking to a young Templar who snapped.

“Are you touched!? To the elf with the bloody light! Die before you give them anything!”

This settled their indecision.

He could not say how long he fought, only that his arms were numb by the end of it. He could not say how many he saw fall, it was too difficult to count them. It only occurred to him that he was alive and they'd “won” when he kept swinging Lightbringer into nothing. Others were ambling away and the wounded were being tended. On the wall he could see a shell-shocked Villyen looking for him. He limped in that direction, suddenly aware of pain.

“Eldest Lavellan.” It was the Templar from earlier. Lavellan looked up from his bloody robes into a grim but youthful face, sharp eyes looked back at him. “That was timely.”

“Die before you give them anything.” He replied unthinkingly.

The Templar frowned at him until he explained.

“That is what you said. It was very motivational.”

“Light from the sky in the middle of a battlefield will make you motivational.”

“It was not from the sky. It was from a sword.”

“Ask anyone down here when they saw it, might as well have been from the Maker Himself.”

Anyone else saying this would be joking but the Templar appeared quite serious.

“Your Maker would not speak to you through me, I assure you.” Lavellan replied flatly.

“Seems as good as any place,” He shrugged and held out a red-stained hand. “Marcus Rorick.”

He glimpsed it and kept walking. Marcus walked with him.

“I forgot you Lavellan Clan have some rule about touching humans.” He stated as a matter of fact.

“It is not a rule, but your hand is filthy.” He quickened his pace. Scraps of conversation between near-deaths was fine but he had no desire to befriend any of the Templars. Marcus was not far off when he said it could be perceived they did not touch humans. Amrallan was the only one he knew who might allow such a thing and even he was like to follow his clan's example in public. Successfully rebuffed, Marcus distanced himself as they returned to their people.

“I was so scared for you!” Villyen's tears had been flowing the entire time and did so more rapidly. The Eldest held him while moving- unable to relax until he knew what became of the others.

He was quite a distance when he beheld the wreckage of the main wall. Half-ruined, gate bent and the entire structure enclosed in ice. His heart hammered in his chest as he approached, noticing large, grotesque forms trapped within. Smaller ones too, people caught in the crystal spires when they'd burst forth. Crimson bubbled within the gleaming sheets like stained glass.

Still he had hope his mother and brother were alive, even if most of the Lavellan Clan had fallen. Gripping Villyen's hand he ran to the unbelievable scene, only slowing when they tread snow.

They found her in the middle of the decimation, limbs frozen to the ground by thin tendrils of glass that were impossibly hard. At a glance, she was dead. White skin had greyed and her head was limp against her chest, ironbark circlet tangled in dark hair. She stood only because the structures she made herself a conduit for still held her upright.

Villyen was howling but he scarcely heard it through the pounding in his ears. People gathered- Wardens from the other side of the destroyed gate and some from the wall come to gape at the surreal carnage. A Warden dwarf edged towards him, he thought he recognised her.

“Where is Amrallan?” Somehow, his voice was steady. Everything was so far away.

“Lured some of the ogres from the wall, met a similar fate. You don't want to see him.” She was direct but gentle. He had the sense she was so forthright because she understood he would accept nothing less.

“Yes, I do- and bring me one of the Circle Mages. I must remove these bodies and have them burned.”

Villyen's ever-present howls became ear-piercing in light of this news.

“No no you cannot! If you burn them they will be gone forever! Eldest, no!”

This was too much for him, his heart erupted in his chest.

“And if we do not they will carry Blight! Do you want that for our Keeper? For Amrallan? Would you ask them to bestow the same fate upon you? Frozen in place, festering, infected by Blight until you decay!?”

Though his retort was in Dalish the grisliness of it was somehow not lost on its witnesses. Out of seemingly nowhere Marcus reappeared, laying his hands on the screaming Villyen and pulling him back.

“Stop that, child. You're with me. Let your brother take care of them.”

He wept but allowed himself to be steered.

The Warden led him through the wreckage and the corpses and Lavellan blearily recalled her being addressed as Fletch, at some point. She had spoken truthfully of Amrallan. Keeper Verillana had given her body to her will and used that power to annihilate everything in a flash of winter. Amrallan had attempted to lure several ogres away, found himself caught by one, and took them all with him in a wave of frost while his spine was crushed. He would rot in that very position if he left them.

“Burn the whole thing. Take his staff if it survives.”

_We must be like winter, da'len. Unmoveable until spring._

_\--_

A large pyre was built outside for the bodies that could be recovered. The Wardens had taken heed of his request- the pyre was erected around the grotesque sculpture. They set the whole thing ablaze.

Circle Mages had removed his mother from her diamond web with care and laid her out, hands folded, circlet beneath her fingers. There was no beautiful resting place for Keeper Verillana, he knew, but he would at least find her a peaceful one. This was his thinking as he carried her away from the abundance of death.

He prepared her funeral bed as if in a trance. Once she was set across the wood and kindling, he gingerly removed the circlet from her hands. Not really knowing what to do with it, he hung it on the outside of his robes. Its edge scraped the amulet beneath and a tremor of regret overpowered him.

How stupid, to still have it with him, entertaining himself with fanciful daydreams when reality demanded his full attention. If he'd focused more, if he'd insisted, would his family still be here?

Why did Lightbringer choose him? A child, just as his brother had said- though his brother had not meant it cruelly- he should have! If Lightbringer had chosen Amrallan- would he still live? Why _him_? Weak, impulsive, stupid, defective!

During this self-flagellation he noticed a wide shadow spill across the pyre.

“Yes?” He asked without looking.

“Your brother is calmer, wants to sit with you to send her off.” It was the Templar.

“Send him.”

There was no room for interpretation in his words yet the Templar did not move. Lavellan waited.

“What was that he was yelling about, she'd be gone forever?” His tone was slightly derisive.

He decided he wouldn't mind explaining, it was oddly meditative to recite.

“In the Lavellan Clan we are buried. Whatever residual will contained within our vessel returns to the elements and is recorded within the Fade. If we are burned, all that knowledge is lost. Those burned will move through the Fade endlessly, not knowing their purpose or place.”

“And you believe that?” He sounded aghast.

“It does not matter what I believe. The bodies must be burned.”

The Templar seemed to accept that, leaving without another word. Villyen arrived soon after, somehow both ghostly white and beet red. He looked apologetic so the Eldest shook his head, signifying he didn't want to hear it. Hand outstretched, he pulled his little brother to sit.

Their clan did not school themselves in fire. It was too destructive, too much room for mistake, hence why he'd required the help of the Circle Mages to free Keeper Verillana. But a simple funeral pyre required only the usage of basic tools. A spark of flint and it was done easily.

They watched at a distance and he thought of the last time he sat with his mother under the stars. Villyen sobbed so hard he seized and instinctively he held him close. Eventually the flames lowered, there was little to recognise and Villyen had exhausted himself.

“Not wearing it.” He croaked.

“What?” He looked down, confused. Villyen indicated Verillana's circlet with a tilt of his chin.

“I am no Keeper. She would have known, if she had the time.”

“Does not matter what you say,” The poor boy's whole face was quivering. “She was training you. Lightbringer chose you. You cannot say no!”

His reasoning was childish but made him consider many things. If he did not speak for his clan now, no one would. Lightbringer was indeed invaluable but not in the way Villyen thought. It would serve as his bargaining chip- the Wardens and Templars themselves could attest to how indispensable he and Lightbringer were.

He could go so far as to say he and Lightbringer alone were worth more on the battlefield than an entire clan. In this way, no one with the name Lavellan may have to fight to earn their keep again.

Fiercely meeting his brother's gaze, he nodded. Almost in synchronicity, he removed the circlet from his head and Villyen unhooked Verillana's from his robes. He lowered and his brother slid the antler-adorned crown into place.

Once upright, he handed his old circlet to Villyen.

“I do not give this to you lightly. You kept me alive, I am certain. You will keep the secrets of our clan alive as my First, until we can live free again, you understand?”

Villyen was on the verge of cries but he gulped them down, swiping the circlet from his Eldest's hands and shoving it unevenly through his hair.

“I understand- I will not forget!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very heavy chapter and I shouldn't leave off with a joke but I've already read it dozens of times so all I think about it anymore is that this meme is Amrallan before confronting his brother about the amulet: https://i.imgflip.com/2ves3p.jpg
> 
> On another note I have these chapters structured as  
> 0 - 0.5 - 1.0 - 1.5  
> and am very annoyed ao3 is forcing me to use 1 - 2 - 3


	3. Sins of Our Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch 1) Dorian undergoes his Harrowing and a decade passes within the tower walls. Some of the recruits finally return from Tevinter..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to a slightly early chapter. I'm going to run out of backlogged chapters soon so the next won't be so early.  
> Also, have a rough reference of some of our main mages as babies (even though we're about to experience a timeskip and make these designs irrelevant, oops.)  
> https://ofgoodmen.tumblr.com/post/625073173557329920/young-dorian-and-young-lavellan-lavellans

Dorian hated travelling by sea.

It was a long, lurching journey between Tevinter and Ferelden. He lamented Orlais rejected their ship- Orlesian Circles already overburdened by the first wave. Now all of Thedas struggled to house them.

Curled up on his cot in the gloom, he twitched and turned as his vision spun. There was nothing left in his stomach to heave and the shakes were so intense, in his delirium he worried he'd caught Blight. He wasn't one to run scared for his father and the constant groaning and swaying of the ship did not welcome him- but he felt desperate for a second pair of eyes.

_Do I look sick? Are there sores? Everything is dancing, I can't see._

Stumbling out of the cabin and into the narrow hall, he rocked with the ship and more fell than walked. Magister Pavus couldn't have gone far. He listened intently for his voice through the ceaseless noise of their vessel. The boxed environment had an eerie, dream-like quality. He was unnerved almost beyond reason but couldn't understand why.

“It can still be done. Take him now- there's no reason to wait.”

He froze, straining to process hushed conversation.

“The boy has lost his mother and is being taken far from his homeland. This is not the time for such a discussion.” He wasn't certain on the identity of the first voice but this was his father.

“What discussion? Simply take him now and have it done. Whether in his homeland or Ferelden, he will still be cursed by this affliction. You would prefer he embarrass us in front of outsiders by flirting with inferiors, as he does everywhere?”

An exaggeration to be sure but it still stung. His stomach churned, especially unsettled as he pieced together their discussion. They weren't just griping about his rebellious nature- his father aimed to rid him of his rumoured predispositions before they had a chance to shame his bloodline more than they had.

“I doubt such things will be on his mind.” He defended his son _that_ much.

“A fixation of this extent is a disease, Magister Pavus, it does not reason. If he's brought with us as he is he'll be a nuisance at best and at worst, a complete embarrassment.”

Unable to support his weight any longer, knees buckled and he slumped against the door. It held but as his mind spiraled he heard his father.

“Is someone there?”

Insides tied into knots, time slowed. Habit told him to run but an outrage was stirring. How could his father even consider this? Was it so impossible to love his son as he was? His pulse in his ears, he shoved open the door and stood there, uneven.

What he saw made no discernible sense and he knew something was terribly wrong.

Magister Pavus was present, a statue in the small, dank space. But the disembodied voice belonged to nothing but black- an inky mass that lurked in the corner, watching without eyes. Everything was still, as if the ocean itself had been swallowed.

_This can't be real._

When he'd overheard his father speak of this plan, he'd retreated and hid for the rest of the voyage. The voice was never identified so the demon simply did not know what to replace it with. Perhaps it never expected Dorian to confront his father.

The reflection of Halward Pavus glowered at Dorian, sinister lines ageing his face. Dorian's heart leapt from his chest as he backed into the hall, seasickness replaced by fear.

“ _Dorian! Please- wait!”_ It almost sounded like his father. Tone too exaggerated in concern, intentionally plucking at emotion. Even in such circumstance, his father certainly would not be so frantic. A puppet of Halward Pavus, features seeming to sprout in webs and distort.

Devoid of thought, he ran. He had to get away from that ghoul, that's all that mattered. Mania took him away from the unnaturally lifeless ship- up several ladders and above deck. Retreat gave him time to compose himself, noticing and being thankful that even the ship was built to a rough specification of his memory.

If there had ever been an ocean, it was indeed swallowed. The ship was half-buried in endless piles of scorched stone. Destruction stretched as far as the eye could see; buildings ravaged by green flame, noxious clouds blotted the sky, rot covered a land strewn with bodies.

_The Tevinter Imperium._

They said that on the final retreat, half of the Imperium burned. It could not even be estimated how much was caused by Darkspawn and how much was a defeated army laying waste to everything as it fled.

Dizzy, he steadied on the edge of the ship. If this was the Fade as he suspected and forgetting was a part of it, the Black City should be visible. Nauseous, he scanned the polluted sky and made out dark towers floating in mist.

 _The good news, this is_ certainly _not real._

He consoled, straightening himself. Banishing the demon was his only priority and the easiest way was with a weapon from the Fade to channel his will. He could possibly locate one from the ship but didn't want to risk a trap within the narrow space. Feeling more decisive, he hoisted himself over the side and skittered down rubble.

“ _Don't you want to speak to your father, Dorian?”_ A voice taunted as he went.

Trudging through the decay was difficult, it stuck to his limbs, tar-like. He tried not to think of the layers of decomposition he waded through or how many people comprised that sludge. He reminded himself incessantly it was not real. Even if Tevinter looked something like this now, it was a nightmare enhanced by his unconscious.

Toppled structures around him took shape- he recognised fragments of architecture from Minrathous and home- even pieces of the Ferelden Tower, different times and places stitched together in awful tapestry. Legs met less resistance now, a solid ground littered with corpses in place of a swamp.

“Ah, if it isn't the very fortunate Dorian Pavus! To escape the cleansing of his deviant homeland with limbs, health and sanity while so many fled with nothing! For many, even less than nothing.” It echoed from everywhere, from inside. The unending landscape felt small.

Dismissing it, he plunged onward. He couldn't entertain the demon, not for a moment. His path was clear- it had to remain so.

 _“You don't want to talk to me, Dorian?_ ” The voice chided, warbling as it fought for consistency.

“No, not really, thank you!” A nervous whisper escaped. His next step met an obstacle, something cold and unrelenting around his leg. Yanking, he refused to see but it was so tenacious he had to steal a glance to thump it in the face with his opposite boot.

Maybe it had been the face of someone he knew, back at the ' _Forgotten District of Minrathous'_ , he dared not allow the image to set. Perhaps the voice that scratched from tattered chords would be familiar if his thoughts were not persistently screaming to drown it.

_“You wonder what makes you so much better, don't you? You wonder why you deserved to live.”_

“It wasn't my choice!” He couldn't help yelling while he kicked, over and over until the arm severed. He broke into a sprint.

 _“None of it was my choice!”_ He had to scream it. He needed it to be known. He needed to believe it. The demon would not relent, striking before he could recover.

“And what of your choices, my son?” Unmistakably familiar though she croaked so dry.

They said on the final retreat, half of the Imperium burned.

_Dorian, I don't think she'll be there._

_Mournful words as the great silhouettes of the harbour stood almost grandly against blood-streaked horizons._

There was no escape from it, was there? With a grave turn, he faced the blackened corpse of his mother. Grief buried so deep the demon failed to reconstruct her appearance. How fortunate most of Tevinter lay in ashes.

“Fooling around while your betters prepare, shirking responsibilities, drinking and joking, losing your amulet, fraternising with inferiors. And do you think people can't tell why you look at Felix that way? Why you drag him into playing house and act like it was his notion?”

“You're very chatty for a woman who burned to death.” He mocked with an edge of hysteria and in equally hysterical motion, threw his hand, willing a shape that obliterated the area. Shards of ice pierced the land where the nightmare once stood. Dorian hadn't even realised what form he cast- reflex became his strategy.

“ _Why don't you want to talk to your family, Dorian? Don't you miss them?”_ The voice underwent more grotesque transformation, sampling whatever fruits Dorian's vulnerable mind bore. The spot of ice pulsed and grew, temperature falling dramatically, unforgiving winds howled through the nightmare. He tried to outmaneuver the frost and slipped.

“ _But you would speak to me, would you not?”_

Keeper Lavellan cast a long shadow. Lightbringer's sharp glow aimed at Dorian's throat. His reaction to this was more visceral than towards the ghoul of his father. Heart drummed painfully against rib cage as he swiveled on ice and skid over harsh terrain. He couldn't find a grip but managed to swerve behind a spire.

The real Lavellan was already uncompromising and only half-reasonable, he could only imagine a demonic figment to be merciless. Thoughts screamed as he tried to organise a plan of attack.

Relaxed steps clicked after him. One set, two set, three sets.

“Does it shame you to face me, Tevinter?”

“Does it make you feel small, stupid, unworthy?”

“Does it make you feel _unclean?_ ”

Hands clasped ears, blocking the trio of Lavellans as best he could. Of course there would be three! Except these brothers were the same person and all their malice crept towards Dorian. He risked a glance around; poor mimics of Lavellan, really. He was not quite that sharp, not quite that towering, not quite that cold. Lightbringer wasn't even accurate!- He couldn't recall the runes seamlessly but enough to know they were wrong!

Listing these discrepancies brought little comfort. How could he face three demonic, mad elves on his own, even if they were fade-forms?

It dawned on him- he didn't have to. The Fade wasn't just home to nightmares but benevolent spirits. If he chose cautiously and inscribed correctly, one might give aid.

They were edging towards him but no matter how Dorian scribbled on ice, he couldn't remember the rune for Valour. It was like trying to recite a melody and losing yourself in another, akin but different. He couldn't comprehend these intruding runes but they were all he could think as he drew summoning circle after summoning circle.

“Tell me something.”

He was out of time.

Tearing his gaze away from cryptic doodles, he met the nightmarish Lavellan in the eye.

He remembered the last time they spoke, Lavellan grieved his people. Now he loomed like a harbinger of death, an immense figure with a triplet at each side and mockery of a celestial blade.

“Do you ever consider that what was left of my family died so that the rest of yours may live? Do you ever consider that I may die in your place, reclaiming your homeland? Does your existence not _shame_ you, Dorian Pavus?”

Despair strangled him, an incredible weakness overpowered his limbs. Through tears he looked between the fake Lavellan and his juvenile circles.

“Lavellan... _I shame myself._..” Delirious and sapped of reason, he placed fingers on the initially-drawn summon. It felt right, somehow. All of his will poured into those etchings until they came alive, submitting himself to the Fade.

Light blinded him. He processed the outline of a straight-backed figure atop the circle, rejuvenating warmth shielding them both.

“How repulsive.” It stated tepidly and there was a slice of movement. With discoloured vision, it looked as though the demon Lavellans were squeezed by invisible hands, causing them to burst like firecrackers.

His mind swirled, colour tinted the scene in patches.

“Valour?”

“No.”

When eyes readjusted it was still Lavellan but the contrast between him and the others was night and day. The chill was present but did not overwhelm and Lightbringer rested, the weight of it at his belt much less threatening.

“You're not Lavellan either.” He thought aloud. “Lavellan is fighting Darkspawn in Tevinter.”

It was not, could not be Lavellan but still the familiar scrutinisation was uncanny.

“I am remembered here. Why do you summon me?”

Whatever he'd drawn, Dorian concluded it reached not only into his memory but into those of the Dalish turned Circle Mages- it was the only way to account for the accuracy. He wondered if the spirit who answered was aware of its situation.

“To defeat the demon, of course.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I was trying to summon Valour.” He repeated and considered that spirit Lavellan was still rather draining.

“You are a bad liar, Dorian Pavus.” The way he said it was so human it caught him off guard, going on the defensive.

“I won't stand in this Fade-pit and be lectured by a _fake_ Lavellan! Tell me your _real_ name and I might oblige you!”

The imitative spirit became static, pupils unmoving. He wondered if he'd broken it, if it was searching within the Fade, or struggled with the conundrum on whether to respond to a question the true Lavellan rejected. _Well, good!_

Eyes blinked into animation, a name finally decided upon.

_“Evallan.”_

“You made that up.” He said reflexively and the spirit only looked at him, humourless. Though he might have wanted to continue testing, a darkness crawled over everything. He made some sound in alarm but the spirit's voice hushed him, gentle.

\--

Slats of the bunk above were the first thing he saw, in that sense it was any other day. Soft furs brushed his chin, even with half-decent bedding they were the most comfortable thing he owned. However they did little to blanket the ache rolling around his skull.

“You're awake!” Titus popped up at the side of his bed, grinning ear to ear. Other noises reached him- armour clinking as Templars attempted to cajole another apprentice out of pyjamas.

“Ah, not so loud.” He hid his face in his pillow.

“Sorry!” Quieter though still energetic. “Almost flawless!”

Everything hurt.

“ _What?”_

“That's what Irving said! He said your Harrowing was almost flawless!”

Intrigued, he deigned to balance on an elbow.

“ _Almost_?”

“They said you were chanting Dalish so they weren't sure, but then the demon was gone.”

Too many things he couldn't identify or wrestle with fought to bubble. He punctured them and settled on shock.

 _“Andraste's-flaming-knickers!_ Where did I pick _that_ up? You didn't hear me _chant_ anything, did you?”

Titus shook his head, the picture of innocence. Nearby, the Templars and apprentice were causing a minor rabble.

“I change my mind! I change my mind!”

“You can't change your mind. It's this or the Rites. Take a moment boy, but stand.”

He tried to recall how he reacted when they came for him but the memories were twisted in dream. Titus watched, politely silent but scowling once the young man had gone.

“What's he so scared for? It's just the Fade. It's not real.”

“The Fade is every worst thing you could ever imagine made worse.” He rambled, settling into pillows again.

“Then why don't we all become Tranquil?” Titus scrunched his face.

“For many people, the worst thing they could ever imagine made worse is still better than nothing, forever.”

“Oh.” Titus didn't seem to know what to think of that. Dorian's thoughts wandered to the boy's mother- he still didn't know of her fate and had stopped asking. One day he'd have to be told. Dorian wondered if nothing, forever had been preferable to living without her family.

He was about to fall asleep when little hands jostled him.

“No you can't fall asleep! Irving said he wanted to see you!”

“Right away? Really?”

“Yes!”

He audibly complained but it was pointless. The First Enchanter wanted to see him, that would be what happened whether he walked or was eventually dragged.

After his ordeal the still dimness of the tower perturbed him. Few were awake and those who were made little noise as they set to their errands. Puzzling together images from his Harrowing, unease grew as he climbed the spiral.

The deathly countenance of his father, his mother's nagging corpse and the mirror image of Lavellan, face as benevolent as it was accusatory.

_Why do you summon me?_

What in all of Thedas had he drawn, if not Valour?

A brisk knock announced his presence at Irving's door and the First Enchanter responded wearily.

“Come in, come in.”

He didn't venture far. Irving's study was cluttered with books and relics and every week the hoard enlarged- items sent to the Circle for personal inspection. A pungent aroma of earth, damp and fire clogged the room- most of these objects were recovered from Tevinter or the Deep Roads. They had the stench of it.

Swarmed by invaluable trinkets probably older than his entire lineage, Dorian was scared to breathe. It might have been different before the Blight but now a single relic was likely worth ten of him.

Huddled beneath all this was First Enchanter Irving in an old chair, perusing a tome. Leathery skin and brittle hair gave him the look of a haggard tree but he smiled when he saw his visitor.

“Dorian Pavus, I see that little whirlwind of a boy actually passed on my message.” He croaked. The similarities between him and an old frog never made him sound unkind.

“He did. It couldn't have waited?” He made an effort to keep impatience from his tone.

“Perhaps, but I do like to check on the wellness of our mages after a Harrowing. And in your case, congratulate them. We were most impressed by how swiftly the demon was banished.”

“Well done, boy.”

Dorian leapt almost out of his skin, jerking around to see all the while Knight Commander Greagoir observed from a corner- so dwarfed by metal and books his armour made him part of the display. His grey face was strict as always but he wouldn't have offered Dorian that, if he hadn't meant it.

“I should be flattered, then?” He quipped, trying not to seem _too_ bitter.

“You should be thankful.” The Knight Commander offered tersely.

“Greagoir.” Irving's voice cut and they both quietened. Satisfied, his bent form corrected itself. “You are now a mage of the Circle, Dorian Pavus. I know that may be difficult to hear, but in time I hope you'll come to think of this as your home.”

He struggled to keep fists from trembling.

“May I go, First Enchanter?”

What Irving saw in his face, he couldn't say. He felt like a beaten dog but it was important to maintain dignity, eyes level.

“You may. A room has been prepared for you on this floor. Though I have one other question, a point of personal curiosity.” He coughed while angling over the table, calculating.

“Of course, First Enchanter.” He was slightly sarcastic and though Greagoir scowled, Irving went on.

“Are you aware you were chanting Dalish before the demon was banished?”

“Titus said something of it.”

“Do you happen to know what you were chanting?”

“No. I was trying to summon Valour. I couldn't remember the rune.”

He saw no reason to be dishonest and Irving saw no reason to disbelieve, slumping back as he thought aloud.

“I suppose it may have come from a Dalish memory.”

“Then perhaps, you should ask one of the Dalish?” Dorian supplied, done with the topic. Irving, unbothered, waved while talking.

“They are not often forthright, or perhaps I would. In any case, I was merely curious why a Tevinter mage might be channeling a Dalish incantation.” He chuckled, his wave turning to one of dismissal. “Go, go, Dorian Pavus. You have humoured this old man enough.”

He strode out of the office wondering the same thing.

Outside of chores and a new routine of intermediary lessons, there was nothing to do but obsess. His new quarters were cramped but comfortable and he secretly felt blessed to have a private room after years of living like cattle. It was decently furnished, with a fair-sized bed, scarred writing desk and enormous dresser. On the high walls was a rectangle of mismatched brick where a window used to be- a previous apprentice apparently tied dozens of blankets as a rope and escaped years ago. No one seemed to know who but Dorian laughed whenever he remembered.

As much as he appreciated his room, in no time the space was layered in notes and doodles. Between lessons, his work in the gardens, stealing alcohol and flirting with kitchen staff, he drew summoning circles. He researched summoning circles. He redrew summoning circles.

None of the things he drew looked the way a traditional summoning circle should and none resembled anything in any book. The lack of Dalish lore at his disposal crippled his efforts. Through process of elimination he validated the mystery runes as Dalish but the one tome he drudged up explained nothing. No doubt if he were insane enough to venture into the Fade and place the circle, it wouldn't even work. There was nothing that said it should and everything that said it shouldn't.

The answer came unexpectedly one day when he marched to the library, wine tucked under one arm and parchment under another. He decided to cut through the dining room, passing stained, vacant tables when the unmistakable sound of a child weeping distracted him.

Underneath a table he found a face he recognised, round and inflamed.

“Fila! What are you doing down there?” He asked with a note of compassion, sitting on the floor.

“They wouldn't wait for me!” Tears ran like a waterfall from her eyes. “I asked and they wouldn't! I'm going to get lost again! If Eldest were here, he'd tell them _you have to wait for family_!”

“Shh, that's alright,” He cooed, offering a hand. “What lesson do you have? Come on, I'll take you. I'm a full mage now, so I know everything.”

Like a stray cat she gathered herself and unfurled, daintily clasping his fingers.

“We were learning about spirits...You're that 'Vint.” She said with a sniff, apparently just realising.

“I am _that 'Vint!_ ” He laughed, tugging her along. She examined him like a tiny hawk but did not resist.

“Was The Harrowing scary?” She inquired after a time.

“It was.” He didn't know what else to say, derailing. “Do you know Titus? You must have lessons with him.”

“I don't like him.” Her entire face puckered.

 _“What?_ Why not?” He asked between chortles.

“He's loud and a show-off.” She soured further. He briefly recalled the Eldest Lavellan with some amusement.

“He might be that, but he's also a sweet boy. If I told him a pretty, clever girl needed someone to take her to lessons I'm sure he would accompany you.”

Her lips pursed, firm. Dorian pretended to lose interest, examining the walls as he talked.

“Of course you wouldn't want that, since you hate him so much.”

Though he didn't look, he swore he could hear the blush in her voice.

 _“I don't!_ He's just always talking! I'll go with him.”

“Good, you can keep him from being late.” Well-timed, a set of wrinkled robes stumbled into the hall and sprinted.

“Titus!”

They halted, whirled. Titus's eyes locked on Dorian, aghast.

“I'm going- I'm going! I overslept! No one wakes me!”

“How lucky for you, then,” He said while bringing Fila closer. Titus glanced between them quizzically, perhaps wondering what his surrogate brother had in store. “You remember Fila?”

The girl half-hid in his side but Titus beamed. Dorian thought of an excitable puppy.

_No wonder she professes to dislike him!_

“We have lessons together.”

“Some very rude people keep leaving her behind for lessons, too. But you wouldn't do such a thing, would you?”

Titus's eyes widened and he leaned to meet the equally staring Fila. His smile was infectious.

“Of course not! Do you want to go with me, Fila?” She hesitated so he tacked on “I'm sorry I messed up your talk. I liked your runes! But Senior makes it so boring.”

That reassured her and she slunk from her hiding place, shyly reaching for Titus's hand. He accepted and shot her a friendly grin. Before they could go, Dorian's thoughts were alight.

“Wait- runes? Do you know Dalish runes also, Fila?”

“Some, why?”

Crouching to their level, he placed the wine on the floor for now and unveiled the parchment- the summoning circle he'd drawn in the Fade. Both children studied it with great criticism.

“Why did you mix up the Tevinter bits with _this_? You broke the summoning circle!” Titus said first, staunch.

“ _And_ tried to fix it with _Dalish_.” Fila added. “Those pieces won't work!”

“Why? What's wrong with them?”

“They don't fit together! Nothing's going to make sense like _that_.” She screwed up her face, Titus was nodding approvingly.

“Yes, fine, but what does it _say?”_ He swallowed his apprehension. “Not Valour?”

Fila gestured to the most prominent rune.

“ _Faith_. But a Spirit won't know looking at it _._ ”

“Huh,” The boy tittered. “It _does_ look like how we write Valour, kind of.”

“Let's say it _did_ work,” Dorian pressed, feverish. “ _Why_ would it?”

The children exchanged glances, possibly wondering why they were posed such riddles. Fila was deep in thought and memory before answering.

“This rune is on Lightbringer too, sometimes we'd practise drawing it. One time Amrallan was making fun of Villyen's runes and said none of them would ever work! And Eldest said _if the intent is perfectly clear, it still might_.”

_If the intent is perfectly clear._

_But it was Valour! I'd intended to summon Valour!_

_You are a bad liar, Dorian Pavus._

An image spotted within his mind's eye, the Eldest Lavellan thrusting Lightbringer upwards. He recalled marvelling at the arcane forces it must take to craft and wield such a thing. If memory wasn't failing, indeed the same rune burned on Lightbringer's hilt. It was familiar even then- Dalish _'Faith'_ disguised as Tevinter _'Valour'_.

“Dorian? We have to go...” Titus mumbled, furrowing his brow. Apparently he'd been staring like a dead fish. Regaining himself, he pulled together bottle and parchment.

“Yes, yes, don't let me keep you! And I don't want to see either of you late again!”

Together they ran down the hall, hand-in-hand. The son of a Tevinter servant and a lost child of the Dalish, blissfully unaware in their youth of how odd they would seem a few years prior.

A peculiar ache filled his chest.  
  
  
\--

Overtime he mentally beat himself into not thinking about his Harrowing. It was difficult once Titus and Fila were old enough for theirs. The Tevinter boy, having grown quite capable, went fearlessly. When he returned Dorian waited by his bedside as he had done for him. Outside of the boys' chambers, Fila waited too. The newly-cemented initiate awoke with violent tremors.

“ _Nothing you said prepared me for that!”_

But they laughed and embraced. He had made it, it was fine.

Shortly after his Harrowing, Dorian asked if Titus wanted to know of his parents. He said simply _“no”_. Later, he elaborated if and when he needed to know, he would say as much.

On Fila's turn they both stood vigilant near the girls' chambers, having bribed a young mage with extra dessert to watch and alert them. Fila was in visible shock as the apprentice led her out, accepting hugs and reassurances with eager but stiff arms.

Truthfully Dorian wasn't worried. She had become rather knowledgeable and had acquired many useful lessons from the Dalish.

They escorted her to Irving as a group. Occasionally he still remembered with nostalgia how the old man appraised this serious contingent of young mages;

“ _It is endearing, indeed, to see Dalish and Tevinter refugees taking such care of each other!”_

It was one of the few memories that aged well.

Information trickled slowly, but it did trickle. Grey Wardens led the allied armies of Thedas to cut a path through Tevinter, replacing ruins with military settlements. Nothing could live or grow, corrupted by Blight and under constant siege by Darkspawn, but a foothold was required for the Wardens to hunt the Archdemon. There was little sign of the beast, strategically evading what was likely perceived as parasites.

Local news was not much better. Threats emerging from the Deep Roads were common and it was said a group of Wardens vanished completely on a mission to eliminate possible nests. This resulted in a bizarre situation- Dorian heard little but somehow it cultivated into a minor mage rebellion led by a Grey Warden, of all people.

Dorian was fated to experience all this through second-hand scraps exchanged within impenetrable walls. Tevinter mages were entrusted to serve only under special circumstance, sparking unrest as years passed. The Lothering Revolt- what it was dubbed despite the vagueness of the circumstances- had also resulted in an enhanced scrutiny towards all mages. Not to mention how strained the relationship between Wardens and Chantry became in the aftermath.

During breakfast it seemed to be the only thing on anyone's mind. Though Dorian spent most of his time with Fila and Titus out of a sense of responsibility, he'd managed to ingratiate at least two of his peers to him over the last decade. Sitting beside each other, they argued over their breakfast while Dorian picked at his.

“It's insulting, though. It was a bloody Warden that tore apart Lothering, and another bloody Warden that vouched for that Warden, I hear. What's it got to do with us?” Elias stabbed at a sickly egg, straw-like hair bobbing.

“Because he was a Circle Mage before he was a Warden. _That_ makes it our fault.” Katerina offered, heavy-lidded eyes regarding him from under a practical haircut.

“That makes it _their_ fault! We're still Tevinter.”

“Speak for yourself. Tevinter's gone, the Circle is home now. I wouldn't go back to stay, but what makes some Dalish a better choice to fight Blight than us?”

At this, Dorian ceased moping.

“Out of all the groups to undergo their Harrowing since the Blight, the Dalish have the highest rate of success and the lowest Tranquillity requests. Compared to us, who had the highest rate of failure and the highest of Tranquillity requests.”

“Here we go!” Elias was groaning.

Dorian dropped his fork with narrowed eyes. He'd barely been paying attention, what could he have said?

“ _What?”_

“You're always defending the blighted Dalish!” Elias abandoned his fork too. It sat collecting oddly-tinged egg. Dorian wondered when they'd be down to war rations.

“I am not.”

“It doesn't matter, anyway,” Katerina gestured them both to yield. “We've proven ourselves when others didn't, _that_ should qualify us more than anything. Why are the Dalish trusted so much?”

Dorian straightened and held out his hand, counting off four fingers, it was obvious to anyone present what he referred to.

“Four major battles in the Tevinter ruins over ten years. Each one, a Dalish mage was instrumental to success. We passed our Harrowing, but what does that _mean_? Neither of you remember what war is like, and I'd wager if given the chance you'd wretch to death in fear before actually facing any Darkspawn.”

“That's grim, Dorian.” But Elias was laughing. Katerina rolled her eyes.

“Wasn't it mostly the same Dalish? A Lavellan? And they say he isn't even initiated. He's not a Circle Mage, he's not Dalish any more, what side is he on that _he_ can be so trusted?”

“Oh we're picking sides now?” Dorian snorted. “Here I thought we were fighting Darkspawn!”

“Don't be naïve, Dorian.” She stated pragmatically and knifed something on her plate. “Are you _really_ comfortable with the Dalish fighting, while we don't?”

“Of course not, but I'm hardly about to look a gift halla in the mouth.”

Whatever counter she had died on her lips, eyes lifting. Before Dorian could follow her gaze a heavy, armoured hand clapped his shoulder.

“Are you Dorian Pavus?”

His chair squeaked as he confronted the bulky figure, glimpsing Katerina and Elias's concerned faces. Piercing eyes drove into him from a scarred countenance- a Templar he didn't recognise.

“Yes?”

“The First Enchanter wants to see you.” He commanded.

“Why? What have I done?” He asked instinctively. The grimness of the man didn't inspire ease.

“I don't know. Have you done anything?” His eyes somehow sharpened further.

After a moment of thought, Dorian decided.

“Nothing that should earn me a visit from the First Enchanter, I should think.”

The Templar dragged him onto his feet like an unruly pet.

“In that case, nothing to worry about.”

It was either walk or be pulled like a rag-doll- he walked. The Templar's strides were long and determined, waylaid for no one as he bulldozed out of the dining area and through the hall. He didn't knock at Irving's door, merely barrelled through and released Dorian in the centre of the room.

The majority of the artifacts had been emptied from Irving's office but the scent of ancient earth and scorched stone never left. He noted that Greagoir was uncharacteristically absent for this. Irving sat at his desk alone and the unknown Templar stood at attention near him.

“Please, sit, Dorian.” A withered hand inclined towards the opposite chair and Dorian reluctantly slid into it. All these years and he was still anxious about touching anything.

After what felt like an eternity of quiet, Irving asked the Templar, confused;

“Did you not introduce yourself to our Dorian Pavus, Rorick?”

“No.” He said stonily. Irving exalted a breathe, touching his forehead.

“Dorian, this is Marcus Rorick. He is one of the Templar Commanders in charge of our people overseas.”

“I am _absolutely thrilled_ to meet you!” Dorian chirped, dripping sarcasm. Ignoring him, Marcus glared at Irving.

“You overestimate this Tevinter, and underestimate my recruit.”

An argument between he and Irving was about to rekindle, the First Enchanter spoke firmly.

“I believe I have estimated them both quite accurately.”

He was intrigued- _what in Andraste's name was happening here?_

“First Enchanter? Is there something you need from me?”

The First Enchanter waited until Marcus exercised restraint, glowering into space.

“Yes, there is. You might remember your Harrowing was considered an astounding success, even with the one hiccup.” Dorian nodded. “Quite a few of the mages on the front-line have never undergone a Harrowing. It seemed unimportant, in the grand scheme of things. But recent events suggest it may be....prudent, to test our forces against demonic threats.

Some of our mages have become quite indispensable, as you may know. We are loathe to leave anything to chance. Therefore I have assigned you, Dorian Pavus, as a tutor. You will relay all and any useful information you gleaned on your Harrowing, and aid in planning a variety of defences. Everything must be accounted for.”

None of this was difficult to grasp and he was almost excited. A change of pace was welcome in the Circle and an opportunity to speak with a mage recruit would prove enlightening. Sitting straighter, he experienced something akin to pride. _He_ was entrusted with this, with something so important! And because his mess of a Harrowing was considered _impressive!_

“How many will I be tutoring?”

“Just one. I believe you have met Eldest Brother Lavellan?”

His throat instantly dried but still he corrected.

“ _Keeper_ Lavellan, First Enchanter. Yes, I remember him.”

The First Enchanter was speaking but Dorian's thoughts were melting, it was the only way to describe it.

“Of course, _Keeper_ Lavellan, forgive me. In any case, he's been here for a- Marcus? A week or so, now? We have been debating on how to handle his tutelage.”

He'd kept any thought of Lavellan locked in a box far away from himself with the certainty if the elf returned, he'd be the first to know. Other times he recognised this as foolish, telling himself it was more likely they would never meet again.

“How have I not seen him?” He blinked at the two. Even if they managed to wrap him in Circle robes, surely Lavellan would stand out like a halla among horses.

The reply came from Marcus.

“He's staying with the Warden and Templar recruits for now.”

That made sense. After years fighting abroad, the Templars probably felt more like peers than any of the sheltered mages living in the main tower. Dorian wouldn't appreciate being separated and thrown in with young apprentices either, he didn't think.

“When do I start?”  
“Tomorrow, if possible. The library has been reserved for you during the morning period. Do not be late, do not leave it in a state-”

“And don't waste our time.” Marcus intervened. Irving shot him a look but allowed that singular remark.

Flying out of the room, his thoughts bounced. He had to tell Fila as soon as possible! She'd be overjoyed to hear news of her Eldest, no doubt! Single-minded, he didn't notice Elias and Katerina until they collided.

“Maker! Were you eavesdropping?” He accused with a grin.

“We tried.” Elias nodded firmly, shameless.

“What did Irving want?” Katerina elbowed him aside.

Taking into account their morning discussion, he decided they didn't need to know right away.

“I don't want to talk about it right now. But I will.”

This earned a visual dissection, then Katerina said, spluttering;

“It's nothing! He's just embarrassed himself again- look at his face!”

He could hardly imagine that that meant but knew it would satisfy if he agreed.

“I'm always embarrassing myself, so what does it matter? Out of my way, I have work to do!” He teased but maneuvered around for the library. He'd need to get a head start on the research so as not to ' _waste anyone's time'_ \- an outline, at least.

“ _No you don't!_ ” Elias snorted but neither stopped him.

At the end of the day he met Fila and Titus near her quarters- that she was an adult who knew her way now didn't mean he wouldn't playfully insist on serving as escort. Their mood was light as they approached but, seeing Dorian, her face became suspicious and Titus's, dark.

“If you're waiting for us here, something must have happened.” The younger man remarked.

“Yes, but nothing bad.”

Worrying them was no desire of his, so he explained urgently. It was a good thing, since Fila started to hop the moment she heard _'Keeper Lavellan, your Eldest Brother'_ and this morphed into joyful screaming, squeezing them both in celebration. He barely had a chance to get to the part where _he_ had been selected to _do something._

“That's wonderful! Creators! I never thought they'd let him come back!”

“You'll tell your clan-siblings, then?”

This seemed to puncture her enthusiasm, mouth twitching in its smile.

“I'm not sure, not everyone considers themselves family any more.”

 _“Really?_ But they all still call him Eldest!”

“They do,” She fidgeted with Titus's hand. “Only his blood-family knew his name and...sometimes, when they say Eldest now, it's not meant kindly.”

Somehow that was disappointing to hear. However Fila didn't allow it to dampen her spirits, ushering them inside.

“I remember him. Do you think he remembers me?” Titus wondered as they arranged themselves around the room- door open, of course. There were meant to be strict rules against mages sealed together in private chambers. Admittedly Dorian could attest they were often overlooked- but this wasn't anything close to 'shut-the-door' company.

“If he remembers you, it's as an annoyance.” He ribbed, beaming. Titus punched his arm.

Fila soon proceeded to regale them with tales of her Dalish childhood. Her fellow mages listened patiently, knowing to indulge remnants of home any refugee held dear. For some reason as the room became dark and they prepared to leave, one in particular stood out;

“ _Oh and Amrallan and Eldest- you wouldn't think it but they fought all the time! But they didn't fight the way brothers do at all, it was so strange! Amrallan would always be laughing and smiling, and being so nice about it, and Eldest would stand there with his sullen look and state this or that. But you could tell they were both really angry!_

_I remember once, everyone was getting fever- everyone! So Eldest and Amrallan, they mix potions for themselves to keep it away. Amrallan kept saying there was something wrong with Eldest's potion, but he wouldn't hear it! I think he knew he was wrong because his arguments were getting shorter and shorter._

_So then Amrallan asks with that big smile- well brother, why not drink it already? So he does, all serious! And he goes green right away, Dorian! Right away!_

_He didn't even say anything, he just fell on the ground and stayed there! But you know Amrallan, he felt bad right away too. He told us to get the Keeper, then he drank all the bad potion himself, and he was so much sicker than anyone then! She was so angry! She made them both meditate against the aravel for a week, even being sick!”_

Lazily approaching the exit, he stopped as his wrist was grabbed and something offered. Looking down, it was a smooth piece of bark carved into a rune. All he could say was it certainly wasn't Faith.

“Give that to him!” Fila explained before his half-asleep mind formed the question.

“What? Why? What is it?”

“He'll know! Tell him it's from me- and that he should visit his sister!”

He couldn't deny her that, so he pocketed the charm and gave a one-armed hug, promising earnest regards to the lost Lavellan.

\--

Resting his head brought the weight of reality. By morning he was riddled with anxieties; to perform adequately, to do Fila's message justice, to not humiliate himself in front of someone who was not a friend but not quite an enemy. And what if, despite best efforts, Lavellan failed his Harrowing? Would Dorian be liable?

All this and more plagued him as he rushed for the library, sure he was late- in and out of slumber since the first trace of light. Pausing, he smoothed his robes and hair at the door, refusing to seem as though he'd run half-conscious- which he had.

As predicted, Lavellan was present. Straight back turned and head in a book, he stood near a far shelf and didn't notice Dorian. He lacked Circle robes, adorned in simple pale robes with no distinguishable markings. The Keeper's circlet still crowned him, so Dorian addressed with proper etiquette.

“Keeper Lavellan? I hope I haven't kept you waiting.”

He faced Dorian and returned the book in the same motion.

“You did not.” His voice and face had matured but the iciness was unchanged. Last they'd met, he was visibly unmarked by war. Now scars of various kinds flecked his skin. Most were thin and small, except for a burst that stretched from neck to jaw.

Dorian closed the gap, smiling cordially. They'd grown but Lavellan was still a heel above. Lightbringer was absent but he'd assumed as much- a powerful weapon to allow in the tower unrestricted.

“I'm Dorian Pavus, I don't know if you remember.” He extended his hand. It was met with such vigorous inspection he thought to retract but the elf reached before he could. He wondered if to be insulted or flattered by the measure of effort. Not a shake- he gingerly held the tips of Dorian's fingers.

“Your hand is warm.” Dorian blurted.

“ _What?”_ Keeper Lavellan was absolutely nonplussed.

“You have an aura of cold. You're the only one I know to maintain such a thing constantly, I thought your hand would be cold.”

He was speechless for a moment, then stated.

“It is _around_ me, not _from_ me. I do not feel it.”

Dorian had no idea what to think about that.

“Do you mean you've _tricked_ yourself not to feel it?”  
“No.”

Off to a brilliant start- and he'd meant to endear the Keeper to him by mentioning Fila. Hoping it wasn't too late, he dug into his robes.

“I have something for you- from your clan-sister- you must remember Fila?”

Though the surveillance could almost be described as polite, he was convinced Lavellan thought him mad.

“Of course.”

“This is from her- she insists you visit.”

The whittled bark fell into Lavellan's palm. Eyes softened as he beheld it, mouth twitched. For a while Dorian was afraid he'd upset him but he spoke warmly- or as warm as Dorian had ever heard.

“She is well? I am proud of her.”

“And you will be, Keeper. She's so clever- and sweet. She really is a gift.” He couldn't help gush, a little embarrassed by how parental he sounded. He might have been more guarded but it encouraged a glimmer of a smile from Lavellan, motivating Dorian to ask.

“What did she give you?”

“It is a simple ward against nightmares, especially fever dreams. We would carve them for the children. I remember, once...” He trailed off with a throat-clear, sliding the tiny ward into his robes.

“You must miss your clan terribly, Keeper, I apologise.”

“There is no need. Please, instruct me on this Harrowing.”

They sat together and Dorian relayed almost everything of his Harrowing. He left out the specifics of the demon's taunts and replaced the demon Lavellans with the usual Despair Demon, the Spirit Lavellan with a warrior spirit. He did explain his trouble with the rune and identifying the spirit but not that it was the Dalish for Faith.

He feared it would be difficult to relive but it was almost cathartic. It helped that Lavellan never interrupted or questioned, even on the numerous occasions he suspected deception, he only gave Dorian a pointed look and respectful silence.

“It was almost a fluke, then. Though you must be praised for identifying the illusion so quickly.” He observed when all was conveyed.

“Thank you, though that is precisely what bothers me. The demon was banished easily, but I doubt it was destroyed, or that it ever has been. If you were a demon of nightmare, what would be the ideal hunting ground?”

“Somewhere with many dreamers who will offer themselves willingly.”

“In a situation where you can have your fill and slink away when it's too difficult. It doesn't need to possess anyone, why bother with that when a lesser demon will take the vessel once there's nothing left?”

With that established they poured over research on active and passive strategies in demon banishment. If the lower demons were dispelled and such a nightmare did exist, Lavellan could hunt it and slay it once and for all.

Dorian assured him it was unnecessary.

“If you cause enough trouble for it, it should leave, in any case.”

“But it is unsettling to think of a creature growing fat on our misfortune, no?”

“I- yes, it is.”

Their lesson concluded near lunch, at the end of the morning period as instructed by Irving. Lavellan barely shook Dorian's hand again and Dorian only offered to see if the gesture would be enacted properly.

“You should come for lunch, I usually sit with Fila.”

“Another time, perhaps. I will visit her.”

He smiled broadly at the solemn elf.

“You can't hide in the barracks forever. Make sure you see her.”

The subject of their conversation waited for Dorian in the dining hall. They claimed a table with Titus. Katerina and Elias were forced to take one alongside. Lavellan and a handful of Templar and Warden recruits had been the first from the battlefield but not the last. More had returned to the tower and did so over the night and morning. Some had to be here for their Harrowing- Dorian supposed Lavellan's case really was of special interest.

He'd muffled his enthusiasm thus far but it was difficult with Titus and Fila overflowing with it.

“Did he have Lightbringer? Does he have scars? How tall is he? I heard his mother was a Qunari!”

“He did not, he is battle-worn, taller than most- and she was _not_ , you _saw_ her!”

Titus creased his forehead at this.

“Well his _father_ , then! You don't know!”

Giggling mildly, Fila patted Titus' wrist to shush him, her voice brimming with fond nostalgia when she spoke;

“Maybe it's silly to think of us as family, I know a lot of the clan don't. I think it's too painful for them to remember, but I do! We learned things every day, things I'd never learn in a Circle. And everything we did, it was together.”

“Your Eldest Brother said he's proud of you, Fila. Take that to heart.”

While she preened, Elias thrust his chair back to knit his brow at them.

“Am I hearing right? So you _are_ hunting a demon with Eldest Lavellan?”

“Maker, I'm doing _what?_ And he's not _your_ Eldest Lavellan. He's Keeper now, so it would be _Keeper_ to you.”

Elias blinked obliviously.

“What did I say?”

“Idiot,” Katerina's chair slanted against the other side of the table. “What _are_ you doing then, if you're not hunting a demon?”

“Where did this come from? Eavesdropping?” He guffawed. Of course the walls, bookcases and doors of the tower had ears, it was written over both of them. “I'm helping him prepare for his Harrowing. No heroic feats of demon-hunt necessary.”

“So now the Dalish get their own personal Harrowing tutor?” Katerina griped.

“Not _all_ the Dalish, just Keeper Lavellan. Isn't this what you wanted? He'll be initiated, a full Circle Mage.”

“How do you figure that?” Elias countered, heaving against the table. “He's been in Tevinter a decade and Maker knows where before that. Whatever's left of Tevinter, he's more of whatever that is than we are Tevinter.”

Fila wordlessly picked at her food. The need to say something in Lavellan's defence rose up but he needn't spare the effort- Titus understood.

“Hey, idiot, get off the table.” Smacking his hand hard on the chair, both it and Elias heaped loudly. This earned immediate attention, a Templar yelling;

“Oi! Stop fooling around! And you!” At Katerina- who was trying to stealthily lower her seat. “Get off the blighted tables!”

\--

People mostly didn't realise they were in the Fade while dreaming- if they remembered at all. Dorian had heard of techniques to enhance self-awareness within the Fade but attempted them sparingly. He'd adopted a healthy caution against dream exploration since the Harrowing.

Therefore he knew something was amiss when he found himself in a field of snow, totally lucid. Studying his environment, he recognised spires and edges of buildings poking from the barren wasteland.

The nightmare from his Harrowing, sealed within a ten year avalanche of snow.

There was only one 'living' thing left to consult in the blinding atmosphere.

A spirit or demon, wearing Lavellan's usurped form, perused Dorian. It made an effort to mirror recent images of the elf but was unsightly in a way he couldn't describe. Eyes stuck with accusation though he waited for the befuddled dreamer.

“What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here? You can't pretend to be Lavellan now he's actually here, you know.”

“Perhaps you feel guilty.” Stated as if waiting to say it.

“For what? I haven't done anything.” He was sincerely baffled and becoming irate.

“You have not?” The spirit's head angled, inquisitive.

“I haven't, _Evallan!_ ”

The last syllables sent a disturbing ripple through the dream. False Lavellan's expression was knowing, Dorian's insides clenched.

“You gave me the name!” He couldn't believe some silly whim of his hysterical, teenage self was coming back to haunt him in such a way.

“You saw an opportunity to claim something that was not yours. You thought it clever.”

“No! I wasn't thinking at all!”

“The same way you were not thinking when you drew a rune that was also not yours to use.”

“But I wasn't!” All his conversational ability failed, the panic was so fierce.

“ _You are never thinking, Dorian!”_

The voice of his father- but changed. An uncanny something that resembled his father.

_“But I don't even know if it's right!”_

He jostled awake, freezing in sweat.

Rudely disturbed, he would at least have time to meet his friends for breakfast and not be late for the lesson, while noting to himself this was certainly proof of his assumption. A Demon of Nightmare was lurking the tower, possibly since before even his lifetime. Sensing Dorian's intent- to exterminate it- of course it would haunt him now, taunting him with absurd riddles from the Fade.

The dining hall was thankfully sparse, Elias and Katerina joined while he was trying to choose between nothing and grey porridge.

“I saw a lot of Wardens this morning.” Elias informed, taking a seat.

“He's got it in his head to request conscription.” Katerina's eyes lolled.

“It's rare they'll conscript a mage from Tevinter,” He looked from his untouched bowl. “Especially after Lothering...Did we not _just_ have this conversation?”

“But that Warden wasn't Tevinter.” Elias voiced his usual protests. “Why are we being restricted for what they did?”

“We were already restricted,” He reminded for the hundredth time. “We've been further restricted, if they're suspicious of their own they're hardly going to trust us.”

Elias continued but it fell on deaf ears- Dorian spied three faces near the entrance. Titus and Fila, hand-in-hand, in animated conversation with the rigid Lavellan.

“Hello? What are you looking at?” Katerina gently tapped his forehead, he blinked.

“Nothing, Fila's here.”

Saved by timing, the young elf lovingly held her brother then rushed to the table alongside Titus. He waved them down but eyes flicked towards the figure slipping away.

“He's not going to eat with us?”

“No, he wakes up earlier.” Fila piped, lightly hugging Dorian before she took her seat.

“He told us war stories!” Titus grinned. “Did you know there's _smart_ Darkspawn? They talk and can strategise and everything! And did you know they found a thaig so full of abominations they had to freeze over the _whole_ thing?”

“How encouraging!” He chuckled, of course Titus's primary emotion was fascination. “Why didn't he tell _me_ any war stories?”

“ _You_ probably didn't hound him for them.” Fila answered, a pointed but somehow tender look shot at Titus.

“Do you think he could get me into the Wardens?” Elias interrupted.

 _“Maker_! Why would he do _that?_ I thought you didn't like him!” Dorian saved Fila from replying.

“I don't anything him,” Elias shrugged, Katerina grunted an agreement. “I just want the same chance he's got.”

The usual awkward silence stretched between Fila and Dorian. It was Titus who broke in;

“Shut up, Elias. He didn't get down on his knees and beg to go to blighted fucking Tevinter and if he did it wasn't for _your_ chicken-shit ass.”

The other mage was so taken aback by this outburst he could only stare fish-eyed while Titus and Fila cackled. After a dumbstruck moment he joined them, tension dissipating from the group in waves.

Truthfully Dorian was glad to leave there. Guilt pressed against his shoulders and the last thing he wanted to think about was all those years Lavellan collected scars on his country's behalf.

_Does your existence not shame you, Dorian Pavus?_

A mail-running apprentice stopped to hand over a few letters before springing away. Rifling through them, he sauntered into the library and saw Lavellan hunched over the main table, surrounded by books and busy writing.

Not wanting to disturb him mid-sentence, he sat opposite and inspected the letters. One from his father, one from Felix, the last addressed to him by the Chantry. He tossed the first aside and ripped into the other two.

Unsurprisingly, the Chantry denied his request for transfer to Orlais and answered the pile of forms and recommendations he'd scrounged up with a firm “no”. It was said if you made your case for why you were an ideal candidate there was slim chance of assignment in Tevinter. Dorian understood the rarity.

He told himself it wasn't so bad. No one _really_ wants to go to war, they just feel they should. As for Orlais, he'd been badgering them for years- that they still wrote back was a testament to Orlesian manners.

Felix's letter was lighter reading. He'd been assigned to examine salvaged artifacts, his father was driving him mad, he missed Titus and Dorian but not the stench of dogs and rain.

When he looked up he was slightly unnerved to discover he'd been watched for some time.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt.” He grinned sheepishly, stowing the letters in his robes.

“Thank you.” Curt but genuine- maybe.

As their eyes met he considered sharing with the elf his dream- but quickly decided against it. There was too much he could not, would not explain. Any curiosities he brought with him from the Fade would have to be addressed without really addressing them. It was too humiliating to admit how significant Lavellan's presence had been in his Harrowing- too humiliating to admit it still haunted him.

Intending to prepare for every possibility or shade, they were soon deep in discussion on various schools of magic and Dorian briefly forgot the stolen name and strange circumstances. Instead, a new concern arose.

“You know, I can't help but notice you're quite unprotected if you find yourself cornered by Despair. You're already all cold.”

“I would not make very good food for it, I think.”

“Oh, of course not,” Dorian chided, unthinking. “What would _you_ have to despair about? It's not as though you saw your whole clan massacred, or anything.”

The second it left his mouth he knew he'd stumbled greatly- though little emotion showed on Lavellan's face, the silence from him was suffocating. He took to playing with a loose thread from his sleeve without reply.

“I-I apologise,” Dorian stumbled more, with even more words. “That was unimaginably clumsy of me.”

“It is fine.” The Keeper replied in his usual dry tone, pulling at the errant thread and slowly matching Dorian's gaze. He _said_ it was fine- but his eyes were smouldering. His unfortunate teacher was swift to move the subject along.

“Well if you're not worried about Despair, what _are_ you worried about?”

Lavellan inspected the thread that had his attention and gave no answer. Frustrated, Dorian pressed.

“Keeper...I really can't instruct you if you refuse to cooperate.”

This received a soft sigh from the elf, lips tightening as he examined Dorian's features. The thread was now taut between his hands and Dorian was sure he considered throttling him with it.

“Rage.” He said finally. The whole scene was so absurdly terrifying, he couldn't help but splutter.

“That is humorous?” Lavellan grumbled, relinquishing the thread to lay his hands flat on the table.

“No- of course not! It's just- exactly what I should have expected,” He suppressed his nervous chuckling and continued. “But you have a natural advantage over anything like that, with Lightbringer and your mastery over frost, no?”

“Yes,” He nodded, then fumbled with words. “However, I have a habit of...distraction.”

“Still haven't learned much impulse control, have you?” Dorian smirked- he had to admit, there was something endearing about that. The Keeper didn't confirm verbally but the way he seemed to shrink into his chair said enough.

“Well, I doubt I can fix that.” He remarked, quite jovial as he stood and made for a bookcase. “But this library is teeming with accounts of the Fade, all in a very convenient order. You'll be armed with the knowledge of all these unfortunate souls, and I'm sure one or two had to have a bit of impulsivity to them, no?”

The Keeper still refused to answer but took a book when offered, dutifully absorbing himself within its pages. Dorian did the same, meaning to note significant passages for Lavellan to study but as the elf would learn, he too had a habit of distraction. A name bounced in his mind whenever he caught a glimpse of Lavellan, annoying him. Unsolved puzzles and songs he couldn't remember were great frustrations and this mystery was somehow both.

One glimpse lingered too long- he'd been comparing the tears on the elf's jaw to his dream counterpart. A patient but meaningful stare sent a chill through him and he rolled off whatever remark his tongue conjured.

“You look quite dangerous now, you know?”

Lavellan straightened and folded his hands on the table, questioning.

“You fought a bear and won, I see?” He teased, gesturing to the marks. Lavellan regarded him for a long time, unreadable.

“Do they bother you?”

He didn't know what he expected him to say but it certainly wasn't that. Lips spread in easy bemusement as he answered.

“Not at all. The girls will be all over you if you can limit your scowls- and if they ever see you.”

“I do not scowl.” He said promptly, some of his earlier agitation resurfacing.

“With j _ust_ your eyes, you do!” He laughed, forgetting himself. “It's quite impressive.”

The Keeper was frozen and expressionless, not seeming to know what to say. After some consideration, he observed.

“You grew facial hair.”

“I did!” He laughed harder, Lavellan tensed. “Does it bother you?”

Brow furrowing but thoughts unknowable, he stated simply.

“No.”

Since they appeared to be on speaking terms again, Dorian saw opportunity.

“You know, I don't mind all the titles in public and all that, but it does feel very impersonal to call you _Keeper_ Lavellan all the time.”

“Then call me Lavellan.”

“There are a lot of Lavellans.”

“Then learn their first names.”

“Perfect idea! I already know Fila's, it's your turn.”

He said it jokingly enough the elf was able to dismiss with a mild thinning of lips. _Fine_ , he thought, leaning in his chair, _I'll pocket that for now._

“Speaking of which, you should eat with us, I know she and Titus would like that.”

“I would rather not.” Face bent over his work. “And Irving suggested it may cause a stir.”

“You mean people rushing to ask for war stories and begging you to put in a good word for them?” He chuckled a little sadly, understanding.

“Yes.”

“But do you _like_ eating on your own and spending most of your time in the barracks?”

“None of us are doing what we want to do.” Sparks of irritation. “Please, let me continue.”

For the rest of that morning, he did so.  
  
  
\--

The next day Dorian prepared Lavellan for the confounding nature of the Fade.

“If it can trap your awareness, it will drain you of will, leaving you vulnerable to possession from other demons. The key is to have a mental anchor in the world you know.”

“In what sense?”

“For myself, it tried to recreate a memory. When I tested the bounds of this memory, it all fell apart. You need to hold onto something consistent to compare against.”

Lavellan was pensive- it worried him.

“Perhaps Lightbringer?”

“Perhaps.” The Keeper almost sounded moody. His unfortunate tutor wondered how prepared Lavellan was for an experience like the Harrowing- Dorian never fought Darkspawn and there had to be threat of demonic influence if it was _'prudent'_ to Harrow the recruits now, but he guessed Lavellan had vastly less experience in the Fade than most tower mages.

“Well, we can implant _something_ into your memory, regardless. I _know_ there's a book here on that...you can leave a little clue for yourself in the Fade, how fun for you!” He decided firmly, Lavellan didn't argue.

He admonished himself for it but couldn't leave the issue- or the elf- undisturbed. For a while he busied himself reading accounts and occasionally pointing out a useful passage while Lavellan poured over the book he'd managed to locate. Inevitably, he'd fidget and steal flashes of intense features.

“You should tell me your name.” He said it playfully- but with earnest.

“Why?” Lavellan remained in his notes.

“I find it impossible to believe we're not yet on a first name basis.”

This was met by stony unresponsiveness. Lavellan's pocked hand delicately held up a page. He was pretending not to hear- in such juvenile fashion too! Dorian smirked, the very human behaviour was endearing, if anything.

“What if I guessed? Would you tell me then?” He circled the table to lean near the elf but gave him ample space- it would just be harder to ignore him. Still he would not reply.

“Is it Tamriel? That's common enough...No?”

He lowered until he was on elbows against the table, watching Lavellan's face.

“How about Merrill? Oh of course not, that's a woman's name.”

Finally a reaction, head turning so eyes could target Dorian's in disapproval, a bit of colour leaking into his cheeks.

He didn't know what possessed him then or why his heart wanted to escape through his throat.

“Is it...” He softened and angled closer, not wanting eavesdroppers to hear. He pronounced very carefully. _“Evallan?”_

The reaction was instant, as was his regret. Chair-legs screeched and Lavellan was on his feet, eyes saucer-like and face paralysed.

“ _Where did you hear that name?”_

His heart fled back to his chest, forming a tremendous weight. If he'd really thought it was correct, he wouldn't have said it! His thoughts tumbled, mouth dry.

“Perhaps one of your clan said it in passing?”

The response to this was also swift. Deep red crept into Lavellan's skin, each word forced out with great effort.

“You--are a bad- liar and they-- would not- know- the name. _How do you?_ ”

“Does it matter?” His own speech fell over itself. “I could have heard it anywhere, it's a name!”

“It matters!” Lavellan barked, a shoulder twitched then forced stillness. His characteristic snowy countenance was inflamed. If this were any other mage Dorian would worry the surrounding books were about to catch fire.

“Perhaps I do not give you my name because I do not wish you to have it? I do not wish for you to know it? We are not friends, we are barely allies!”

Humiliation clogged every pore of his being. He remembered standing on the tower grounds, fooling around and playing games while Lavellan looked down on him. Years later and nothing had changed. He was still a fool playing games and Lavellan still looked down.

“Keeper, I-” His voice cracked with apology but the elf didn't want to hear. Or he was hysterical. Dorian was left bewildered, eyeing the complex war of emotion that twisted Lavellan's countenance.

“And why do you call me _that_?! I am not your Keeper! My own clan would not call me such!”

It was so shocking he could only state, dumbly.

“I call something what it is. I would also call you rude and melodramatic.”

For some reason this snapped him back to composure, colour draining until he embodied death more than winter, angered lines smoothing.

“Keeper-” He tried again but Lavellan whipped around and was gone, leaving Dorian with his own complex war of emotion.

Was it _really_ so terrible that he knew his name?

Tidying the area of books, he wondered if he should ask Fila what to do if he guessed her brother's name and Lavellan had a stroke- because just that had occurred. He was clueless to deal with it. Had he stumbled upon some obscure Dalish custom?

Was he simply not allowed to have it? If that were the case, why not say as much?

At first he griped on Lavellan's behaviour, manhandling books while ranting internally. What made Lavellan think he could act so superior? It was the same when they were young, he'd regarded Dorian and everything else like it was beneath him. Even when reprimanded he maintained an unwarranted dignity.

During this tornado of books and thoughts he recovered a full bottle of wine from a false bookcase- these days Dorian was the Senior Mage stashing alcohol for others to find.

By the time the bottle was half-emptied and the area half-organised, his prideful bristling deflated.

It could be claimed Dorian treated everything beneath him too. No matter how grave the issue he condensed it to its absurdity, alienating himself from all seriousness. It was his armour, as pride was Lavellan's. Maybe they were alike in that way.

Maybe Amrallan's insistence they could be good friends was based on something after all.

This only demoralised him. It didn't matter how alike they were- Dorian was still a privileged fool. Lavellan had been thrown to the wolves while he milled about the tower with the other layabouts. He'd been given a much needed respite from his duties and here was Dorian, falling into the same trap of entitlement as Katerina and Elias.

_He gives you his life and you demand more._

At this point the bottle was drained and the room orderly. It was all he could do to lay his head on a table and depreciate himself into drunken slumber.

_It doesn't matter- I don't care!_

_I barely know him._

_I barely even like him!_

He must have slept for some time. When he crawled to awareness there was scarcely any light and an arm curled around his waist, careful but firm. Some disrupted noise left him. He was hushed and bundled against the person's back.

Barely holding onto consciousness, he decided this was rather cosy. It might have been Elias- or someone from the kitchen he'd fancied at one time- in a second of madness he thought it might be Felix.

Whatever the case, the heat pressed to his torso was inviting. He smothered his face into worn fabric and buried into the other form, hands fumbling around robes. His anonymous sentinel didn't object, only rearranging Dorian's hands whenever they slipped perhaps a bit too far into his clothing.

Like precious cargo he was transported from the library to his bed, recognising the ragged furs which were still the most comfortable thing he owned. Covers hoisted to his chin carefully, hands smoothed out the wrinkles bunched against his chest. Instinct drove his own fingers to clasp the nearby limb and it ripped away, making him open his eyes. Long hair and a stern mask blurred into place- though he did not look so stern now. Lavellan edged back, evading his sight.

“Wait!” He pulled himself upright so fast his brain lurched. The elf appeared indecisive so he blurted everything he could through the sickening drum in his ears.

“ _A Spirit of Faith told me!_ It wasn't just Despair!- It was you- three of you!” He laughed through his explanation, uneasy. “I wanted Valour, but all I could remember was the rune on Lightbringer. It shouldn't have even worked! And then it was you. It knew- it must have heard in the Fade- from you- or your mother- or- I just shouldn't have asked!”

All this was digested by a slumped form who avoided looking at him.

“It does not matter where you heard it. My actions- and my words- were unworthy.”

There was so much he wanted to add but Lavellan would not stay, a timid shadow vanishing into the dark.  
  
  
\--

Groggy and embarrassed, he was loathe to face the elf again but knew there was no choice. A task had been assigned and he would succeed, bizarre emotional blunders and all. Still he procrastinated and arrived late. Lavellan was slumped over books and made no motion to acknowledge him. It didn't matter, he placed himself opposite the Keeper and braced.

“Keeper Lavellan, I would like to explain myself.”

“There is no need.” Voice decisive, eyes trained on the page in front of him.

“Yes, there is actually.” He could feel himself about to bristle and squashed the impulse. “I was rather drunk when I explained and....You know, you _do_ seem quite suspicious of me.”

With a forced air of limitless patience, Lavellan unbent and faced him. He was doing his utmost to crush his own emotions, Dorian could tell, but the wariness was undeniable.

“I had no idea what I'd drawn, or that it would take your form. Not to mention- you'd hit me a while ago,” He chuckled as he said it, wanting to show he didn't begrudge him. “So there I was facing three Lavellans, all with Lightbringer- in my madness I must have thought _'you know who wouldn't be afraid of Lavellan?_ ', and there you were.”

He received the information with a rigid nod, diverting to his notes.

“When I face this demon, do you suggest I summon a spirit?”

It would be like that then. Whatever strange occurrence had connected them in the Fade, Lavellan would not be waylaid from his mission. Dorian was conflicted but berated himself for that- he should be relieved!

“Well- no, actually. I was panicking. It was quite silly, really. The demon itself is not that powerful, remember? It relented once it met considerable interference. It's deadliness lies in it's illusionary nature and penchant to attract other demons, using your emotions as bait. You must face it directly and not let it distract you.”

“And you believe implanting something will help?” He dotted a sentence.

“Well....It's what we're preparing for, anyway.”

He was not too confident in his pupil. Lavellan dismissed every challenge with little concern displayed. Though he absorbed and parroted information he showed no realistic grasp of what the Fade would be like. He'd survived warfare since adolescence, so of course he thought his wards and walls of ice impenetrable.

Having walked the Fade, Dorian knew better. It didn't matter how powerful or skilled Lavellan was. If the dream ensnared him, he'd be lost.

“You need to understand, it'll be a dream. You might remember nothing of how you got there. You might not be able to reason the way you usually would. An anchor is crucial, Keeper Lavellan.”

“I have heard you.” His voice was monotone and Dorian reluctantly let him be.

In the following days they maintained some amount of professionalism. Dorian sometimes teased or joked and Lavellan accepted with short responses or subtle expressions. Occasionally he thought of the claim there was no friendship between them and it stung. He couldn't know how he regarded his friends but despite the ever-present cold, Dorian sensed no bite in it.

His suspicions of friendliness were confirmed at times in surprising ways. He'd discarded another letter when Lavellan pointed out, delicate;

“You do not read letters from your father.”

“How do you know that's my father?” If there was one thing he didn't want to discuss, it was that.

“Halward Pavus, I have met him while serving in Orlais.”

“Really?” The surrealism of it brought down his guard. “And he mentioned me?”

“Only that he has a son in the Ferelden Circle.”

“He must not remember you hitting me.” He snickered.

“He did not.” Lavellan showed no amusement. “You do not read his letters?”

“Not unless they're marked _'urgent'_ or _'from the desk of First Enchanter bladee-bla-bla_.'”

Lavellan tapped his quill in thought and Dorian could tell he was, for some reason, invested.

“You do not get along?”

“We've been estranged for some time.”

“Yet he writes you letters.”

“And I am estranged from them.”

He was surveyed at length in winter stillness, it was unbearable.

“You know, for someone who dislikes invasive questions, you're asking very many.”

“You look pained when you see his hand-writing.” Like much of his speech it was said promptly, a simple truth. Dorian's heart ached.

“How is that your concern?”

The answer had a feeling of cautious preparation.

“When I grieved my family, you were the only one who saw.”

“What? _Really?_ ” A disquieting thought indeed! But Lavellan's gaze was so adamant in it's sincerity, Dorian felt helpless.

“Fine, fine! My father doesn't accept me, it's simple. Maybe he would if I could speak to him about it, but that's too...” He trailed off.

The elf returned to whatever he was drawing and spoke almost as if to himself.

“There is much I wish I could have spoken to my mother of before she passed. Sometimes I think she would be ashamed of me. Other times, I believe she would be proud of me regardless of what I told her, because I am her son. I will never know.”

He'd never been honest-to-Maker _humbled_ before but he understood the sensation now. No one had seen Lavellan mourn and probably no one had ever heard him speak those words. They were just for _him._

“I will consider that.”

“Do what you must.” His shoulders tipped. “But I find regret to be...intolerable.”  
  
  
\--

It was inevitable Lavellan would be taken for his Harrowing. Dorian was given no indication of how he- as mentor- would be alerted. Not until a dreary, sodden day when he entered the library to discover it not only devoid of sunlight and life but also an elf.

At first he didn't worry. If he was taken overnight, surely he would return soon or had already and was acquainting himself with a new room on the senior floor. When Dorian stumbled upon prepared quarters but no Lavellan he lounged near Irving's office. He'd catch him leaving his mandatory post-Harrowing evaluation.

Hours inched passed.

Legs stiff from sitting, he wandered the circular hall, listening for activity near the office. He tried to leash his anxiety but it was gaining momentum. Something had to have gone awry- Harrowings were incredible and trying but they were short. You either submitted, or you did not. Lavellan had to be in trouble.

_Or he failed._

_No,_ I _failed him._

_I didn't prepare him enough._

_They didn't give me enough time!_

Darkness gradually consumed, lamps were set alight. He was on the verge of marching into Irving's office and demanding to know what became of his pupil but the tell-tale rattle of armour announced someone at the stairs. Shrinking back, his heart soared in relief.

The Templar Marcus herded Lavellan forward. He saw the back of them and knew better than to trail behind- Marcus's posture was tense and Lavellan wavered. Bursting with anticipation, he rushed to the vacant room he'd identified earlier and stood vigil.

Like a wilted flower Lavellan soon swayed into view, stooped with robes unkempt. Dorian tried to restrain himself but couldn't help striding for him- eyes were bruised and complexion drained. He wondered how in the Maker he'd held composure long enough to be left without aid.

Whatever it had taken it was gone. When he saw Dorian, the rest of Lavellan folded.

“Keeper!” Rushing forward, he caught him unevenly and held. It didn't occur to him how the elf might react and it was shocking how readily his shoulders were encircled. The long sleeves of his robes draped over them both, chin nudging Dorian's.

He smelled _crisp._

Frantically repressing that observation, he fixated on the distinct lack of cold surrounding Lavellan. His will had been so sapped he couldn't maintain a ward that was second nature- the exposed form was tremulous and boiling.

“Are you alright?” He tried to angle in such a way to look at him, but the elf's head kept slumping into his neck. “Lavellan?”

The weakened mage started at that. His hand grasped Dorian's collar, drawing him close.

“ _Evallan!_ Call me Evallan.” The name tickled his skin.

“You must be delirious.” He chuckled, slightly unnerved.

“I must hear how you say it.” The whisper was urgent. Dorian felt it important to oblige.

“Evallan? Evallan. _Evallan!_ Is that enough?” Another nervous laugh rang through him and he wished it hadn't, every movement with the other man slouched on him like this screamed danger.

“Yes. That was how.” With a satisfied hush he tugged Dorian's collar and righted his own posture. In no world could Dorian comprehend what was happening as his lips were crushed by Lavellan's.

 _How does a person_ taste _cold?_

In other circumstances, he reflected, he probably would not mind. But Lavellan was feverish and couldn't know his own actions. He jerked his face away, vibrating with hysterical peals as a mix of reactions battled within him.

“ _Lavellan!_ You really _are_ delirious!”

But the elf was weightless in his arms, head limp.

Afraid of dropping or hurting him with every motion, he carried the fallen Keeper into the chamber and laid him on the bed. The height difference would have made it more cumbersome if he weren't so light. He removed the outer layer of Lavellan's attire, his boots and the circlet atop his head. All were neatly put aside and he guarded him from the nearby writing desk.

He recalled Titus and Fila. Dorian had waited all night after their Harrowing. He could do no less for his pupil.

Intermittently Lavellan would toss and ramble in Dalish, pearls of sweat on his brow. At first he paid no mind but his skin was so blushed and the mutters kept gaining frequency, so Dorian placed a hand along his forehead, rejuvenating frost pulsing from one mage to the other. Lavellan appeared thankful, squirms halting as fingers traced Dorian's knuckles.

“Amrallan?” He rasped.

“No, Keeper. He's not here.” It anguished him to say.

Lavellan whispered something mournful in Dalish and sank into restless dream. Once Dorian was sure the fever would not spike again, he removed his hand.

He was half-conscious himself when agitated Dalish filled the room. The speaker was mid-awareness, elven eyes bright in the murk, hands feeling around his chest and bedding in search of something.

“What? What is it?” Dorian inclined, reflexively taking one of Lavellan's hands. It wasn't rejected but nor did the Keeper appear to see, his opposite hand against his own chest as he repeated the same few words Dorian couldn't fathom.

“I don't know what you're looking for- we'll find it later- here.”

He attempted to coax Lavellan under the covers but the elf flailed and emphasised in his native tongue, tears welling in his eyes.

“ _Evallan!_ I don't understand!”

He didn't think it would process but Lavellan grasped enough to switch languages. Instead Dorian was treated to butchered Orlesian. It would have been funny if it were not so heart-wrenching. From this he pieced together _'ward'_ and ' _heart'_. Scanning the room, the only relevant object he could see was Fila's gifted rune above the bed.

He snatched it and folded Lavellan's digits over the shape.

“Here- _ward_ \- this? It was above your bed, maybe it should remain there? It helps with fever, yes?”

The ghostly figure paused in its scrambling to behold the object with a twinge of dismay. But it must have been his request- he collapsed into bed with the rune against his torso.

Light was seeping in through the windows when Lavellan roused him again.

“Dorian?”

Opening his eyes he saw a glistening face upon its side. Hair glued to shoulders like seaweed and he was drenched, but mostly lucid.

“Yes?” Dorian yawned.

“Why are you here?” Strain dulled the sharpness.

“I'm keeping an eye on you, is that a problem?” He stretched, unbothered by this lack of gratitude. Hours prior, the fever-struck elf had tried to kiss him- anything he said or did in this state couldn't be taken at face value.

“I am fine.”

“You have a fever. I think the overexertion left you vulnerable.”

This retort must have satisfied- Lavellan dozed before hazily slurring again.

“I am sorry I hit you.”

“That was a long time ago.” It was still nice to hear.

“I did not know how else to make you stop talking.”

He forced out a mild chuckle.

“Am I that annoying?”

“No.” Lavellan's consciousness swept away for the dozenth time and Dorian allowed himself to snooze, contemplating what a long night it had been. The next and last time he awoke, he was wrapped in tattered furs from his room and could hear Fila.

“You can't just pick at dried fruit! You need something more substantial!”

“That is not substantial. That is gruel.” He was so grumpy and yet the sound of that voice with its usual frigidity made Dorian's whole body light.

“It's nutritious gruel! _Nahm-nahm-nahm!_ Oh Eldest, don't look at me like that- if you act like a child I have to treat you like one!”

“I'll have the nutritious gruel.” Dorian murmured while sitting up, blankets falling around his thighs.

“You have your own!” Fila pointed out the tray of food on the desk but Dorian took stock of Lavellan first. His typical colours had returned and there was a subtle chill around him, he was glowering down at his own tray. Fila was correct in saying he appeared hilariously juvenile.

“You should eat, Lavellan. I have no idea what that blighted demon did but you've been through an ordeal.” He dug into his grey nutritional slop, in a bright enough mood that he was happy to satiate himself on the poor options.

“No.” Then, eyes squarely on Dorian. “Thank you.”

Between them, the meaning was clear. He wouldn't even admonish him for being a terrible patient.

After breakfast, Lavellan explained with seemingly purposeful vagueness what had occurred within the Fade;

“I created an anchor, as you instructed, but it was used against me in a way I had not predicted. In the end, I could defeat the demon only by summoning Lightbringer. But her interference was more...invasive than I had imagined. This has apparently muddied the results.”

Dorian had many questions but knowing Lavellan likely wouldn't answer them, limited himself to the most important.

“So they might put you through that _again_?”

The elf shrugged.

“Your demon is dead, regardless.”

“ _My_ demon?”

He avoided his gaze.

“It plagued you, did it not?”

“It plagued us all, I think.”

Another roll of shoulders. He had the impression Lavellan wanted to forget the experience.

Respectfully, Dorian never questioned the behaviours that arose that night. He especially would never mention the kiss. Nothing about Lavellan suggested he remembered and Dorian felt it cruel to remind him.

It was after all, a cruel thing for Dorian to remember.


	4. Our Penitent Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 1.5) The Harrowing of Evallan Lavellan.

Since his arrival at the Circle Tower Evallan rested sporadically There was time set aside in his day for one thing- Harrowing lessons with Dorian Pavus. Afterwards he never knew how to occupy himself. Both Dorian and Fila urged him to acquaint better to the tower and its mages but always he returned to the solitude of the barracks.

It was not his place but neither was it with the Circle Mages.

The days were not so terrible. Often he napped- the cacophony of noise from armoured men jeering or hunkering about lulled him to sleep. Nights at the tower were too lifeless. Evallan sprouted into adulthood on war-torn lands that never simmered. However he slept before the Blight he couldn't say- as a man grown, it was futile to lay down on a serene night and expect his mind to emulate the peace.

There was little privacy but that had been rare over the years. A threadbare curtain veiled the sliver of space from rows of similar squeaky cots and partitions. Accustomed to such circumstance, he'd long ago adapted to clothing in strategic layers, not wanting to risk exposure-

_The birthright of Dorian Pavus._

Many times he desired nothing more than to discard it into the Waking Sea. It weighed on him like a prisoner's chains, rattles of guilt every time he moved. Always he told himself no, if he discarded it anywhere, it had to be in the Tevinter's hands.

Perched on his cot, suffocating in evening stillness, he removed the amulet and fiddled without seeing. All he perceived were steely eyes full of fire that consumed every shade around until they transformed; cool and soft when it was early, raw amber as the sun tinted orange. Too inviting to bear.

He had often wondered what became of the Tevinter- had he survived his Harrowing, what sort of man had he become? Was he adapting to his new life well or did he feel alienated and lost, as Evallan did? He had to admit, the reality was nothing akin to what he expected- but what had he expected?

_Not someone like that._

_Not someone so warm._

Whenever he questioned his actions or musings he stumbled into an indignant rage- what else was there to think of, what else was there to distract between the carnage? It did not need a purpose beyond that.

Yet if it were so inconsequential, why could he not return the amulet? Why couldn't he simply face the Tevinter? He was hardly more terrifying than Darkspawn!

But in all their time together he kept the secret shame close to his chest.

He knew time had run out when the division jerked aside to reveal a grim-faced Marcus. Instinctively Evallan hunched and enclosed fingers around the birthright- it would look as though he were praying, if it looked like anything.

“It's time. Collect your things.”

The elf tensed but did not move.

“May I have space, please?” He had to chase the spite from his tone.

“Hurry up, Lavellan.” Marcus ground out and threw the curtain into its original place.

Unfurling, he steeled himself with a final inspection of the amulet. It had not been carried through hopeless battles and unending thaigs undamaged but he saw to it almost obsessively. Every scratch or dent buffed and filled with as much skill as he could muster, though tell-tale discolouration signified tampering.

The chain had been more difficult- beautiful but flimsy and not meant to be dragged into combat. It disquieted him but he'd tied and reinforced the severed links with silverite chipped from Lightbringer, luminous and stark against Tevinter gold. It had been the only way to keep it from falling.

His stomach churned whenever he relived his work. He hoped Lightbringer- the Spirit, not the blade- did not mind. He never sensed apprehension, so she was at least tolerant.

His other belongings were stowed in a leather satchel; notes, extra clothes and Fila's gift. Opening it now, he tucked the amulet within the bundled-and-twined papers, sealed between two pages that would hopefully explain it's presence to Dorian Pavus. Holding his whole life in one hand, he drew the curtain and offered Marcus a curt nod.

“For someone who doesn't believe in the Maker, you do a lot of bloody praying.” He scolded while clasping Lavellan's shoulder, steering as was his habit.

“I have my own gods.” He rebuffed, then bounced the satchel on his shoulder. “If I fall, what will happen to my belongings?”

“I don't know. Salvage anything useful and throw them out, probably.” He was already impatient. Anything not explicitly stated on his schedule was treated as petty. Usually Lavellan would relent on something so small- not wanting to ire the Templar Commander- but this was important.

“There are notes in my pack that may prove valuable to my tutor, should I fall.”

“Really now?” The mention of Dorian Pavus inspired a sneer, even nameless. “Then I'll give them to Irving.”

The Keeper's chest tightened.

“Irving will not know what to do with them. They should be given to my tutor.”

This rebellious note was received as well as could be expected; Marcus halted and shot daggers with his stare.

“Are you giving me an order, Lavellan? If you're so worried about your things then make sure you don't fall, then you can do whatever you want with them.”

He both despised that and was oddly encouraged- but was as sharp in his demeanour.

“I will not fall.”

They ascended and he was permitted to leave his satchel in the room that would be his if he survived. Marcus tapped a plated boot incessantly but allowed him to set Fila's rune above the bed. After that the Templar's patience was spent and he was driven single-mindedly to the highest floor of the tower.  
  
  
\--

Below his vantage point a surge of Darkspawn bodies packed into the narrow enclosure of half-buried walls. Evallan dedicated himself to picking through the violence, looking out for the Emissary that hounded their movements for so long. Fletch had been correct- even this intelligent Emissary honed in on the Wardens.

He had been loathe to abandon the group in the alcove of crumbled stone overnight. It was not his choice to make and the strategy was sound- but when the signal blazed through the noxious skies he'd known his place should have been at the epicentre of the chaos.

Now as the enemy poured into the Warden's camp there was no question to him it's where he belonged. Lightbringer's wards could bolster any man but at the back of the Wardens they were a force to be reckoned with. Stuck on the hill above, he could do nothing.

He couldn't locate the Emissary but caught a cursory look of bright red hair- Fletch had fallen back with the archers and mages but the crowd was pressing. If it pressed any further they would have no room.

Evallan sought Marcus across the ridge but the Templar stood like a column.

“They will not hold.” He called out. Marcus looked and said nothing.

“If they all are overwhelmed the Emissary may escape before we reach it.” He shouted, resolute.

Marcus looked and said nothing.

This was unacceptable to him, adrenaline flowed.

“ _Commander!_ ”

“Hold, Lavellan.” An answer but not the one he wanted.

He decided this was one of those times he didn't care. Poising Lightbringer skyward, the blade radiated energy as he barrelled down the slope. Above, Marcus was howling _'Lavellan!'_ and he paid no mind. He cast frantically as he slid, his only goal to avoid Wardens and be as grand a spectacle as possible.

Position revealed, Marcus had no choice but to follow the charge. Enraged screams of _'after the blighted elf then!'_ faded behind as Evallan dropped into the swarm, smashing anything that dared to confront him with Lightbringer.

The mage reflected that once, Marcus would be thrilled to spot Lightbringer over a battlefield. But his ideas on how they would defeat the Blight had changed with the strenuous years- Evallan's had not.

He couldn't watch needless sacrifice while knowing he was capable of shielding against it.

The Emissary was not slaughtered without casualties or strain- but it was done. He watched as Fletch impaled it on a devastating arrow and it was beheaded by one of her fellows. The controlled Darkspawn were equally headless in the crush of bodies and made short work of.

Knee-deep in corpses, he fought for breathe. Lost on the battlefield- Marcus found him.

“ _You were told to hold!_ ” Outrage boxed in by a drenched helmet. He stamped across grit and body, bits of both flying, armour so bathed it appeared he'd slaughtered half the enemy himself.

“They would have fallen.” He spat queasily and found a gauntlet wrenching his cloak.

“And that's _your_ responsibility, is it!?” Marcus barked. “You're a Circle Mage, _Keeper_ Lavellan! Follow orders like one or I'll ask the blighted Qunari to start sending me collars!”

Hissing, he shoved both hands into the Templar's chest and freed himself. Palms and robes came back slick but they already had been- admittedly not to the extent Marcus was.

“Am I not here to kill Darkspawn?” He snapped, glaring.

“ _They're_ here to kill Darkspawn! _You're_ here to do what I tell you!” He stormed away with that, violently yanking his helmet off and throwing it down while roaring.

“ _STOP FORGETTING IT!_ ” Everything he shouted afterwards was indiscernible.

Evallan trudged over the battlefield until a much friendlier voice beckoned.

“ _Lavellan!”_ The dwarf ambled, teeth bared in relief. “Y'know how we keep meeting like this? One day I'll mistake you for a girl and we're _both_ gonna be in trouble!-- Ancestors, t _hink of the children!”_

Fletch's usual song-and-dance was a great comfort though visibly he only lifted a brow.

“Those little legs of yours would have to catch me first.” He supplied, so frank only she would know he was joking.

“Oh hardy-har-har!” They fell into each other's stride, somehow matching despite the stark difference in height. “You Lavellans- What I need is a _Sister_ Lavellan! They ever made one of those?”

He almost snorted.

“By blood? The closest thing would be Villyen.”

“Oi, watch it! He'd probably say the same about you.” She hooted, bouncing.

The reverie did not last.

“ _Down! DOWN!”_ Emerald fire tore the sky, Evallan knew enough to drop, dragging Fletch with him and raising Lightbringer. The blade emanated a shimmering shield in time but whatever those projectiles were, they burrowed into all obstacles like acid.

Lightbringer's veil fragmented and he felt the impact in his chest. The shield did not submit completely but flame sliced across his face and neck, everything seared then gushed. Blackness overwhelmed as someone was saying his name and people were running.

He couldn't remember what it was that ambushed them.

As he stared into the dark and wondered, it became something of a story he was telling himself.

_Who was Fletch?_

All he could remember was...he was meant to do something of great importance.

“ _Come now, da'len. Today is a big day for you.”_

Eyes slivered, a collection of whittled charms spiralled into view. Dalish runes of various kinds hung in orderly fashion, though many were crude or amateurish. Amrallan and himself crafted most of these- Villyen the rest. All were still learning but Amrallan's were notably superior. If any functioned, it would be his.

He sat up in his bunk, tearing away from that patch of the aravel. Keeper Verillana was smiling tenderly while rooting around for something in a compartment.

“Mother...I cannot quite remember what I was doing.” He rubbed the fog from his eyes.

“Daydreaming, as always! Why do you look so grim, Evallan?”

He considered for a long time but it escaped like a half-heard song.

“I cannot remember.”

“But you remember the day, I hope?” He must have looked at her strangely. “You must collect materials for Lightbringer! It is a proud day, do not look so serious.”

It struck him like lightning and dread followed- of course. The summoning ritual that would grant him adulthood in the eyes of his clan, that marked him as prepared to receive his Vallaslin. How could he forget a thing he lamented so?

“Keeper, why must I do this?” He questioned- gently for now. “Lightbringer is rare in bestowing favour. To some, she has not even appeared.”

He asked such things before but his mother was always patient.

“The spirit must see you! You would want to meet distant relatives as they grow, would you not?”

He pouted with such sourness she chuckled, but continued;

“Evallan, Lightbringer may possess the gift you provide for a moment, an hour, or not at all. The ritual initiates you into the clan as a man grown and tests your ability as a mage. You should be excited!”

“But it shames me!” He whined, no longer gentle. “She will not pick me- she will not even appear to me! Amrallan is more skilled and learned! Lightbringer barely appeared to him!”

The Keeper sighed fitfully and fumbled with her robes.

“And you are still so young, Evallan! It is not expected for you to compete with your elders- and none of us can know how Lightbringer selects her chosen. Why allow it to trouble you?”

With a groan, he curled up on the matt, forehead against knees.

“I do not wish to shame my clan!” Muffled but earnest.

“Da'len, what could you _possibly_ do to shame your clan? Come, cease this nonsense.”

It was kindly said with a shoulder-squeeze and he knew the only way was forward.

Lurching upright, something bumped his chest.

Fingertips crawled until they touched cool metal, heavy but small and finely made. Or it would be- he observed once he unveiled it from his clothes- but there was a patchwork of damage, sometimes glued together by silverite. The object was bizarre- he'd never seen such a thing.

“Keeper, what is this?” Innocently, he held it to his mother's level.

“By Creators!” She raised her hands as if it offended her. “Da'len, where did you find this?”

“I do not know, I was wearing it.” As he spoke he scrutinised- a drop of information that rippled. “This is from Tevinter.”

He had no way of realising that- he was but a child in Ferelden who had nothing to do with Tevinter. The Keeper was unconcerned of how he'd known.

“Tevinter is a long way away, Evallan.”

A creeping sensation tickled his chest. Something was very wrong. Within himself, unknown grief took this shape.

“Where are my brothers? Where is Amrallan- Villyen?” His throat warbled as he spoke.

“Why do you look so fearful, Evallan? I do not know where you found this- but we have nothing to fear from Tevinter here.”

Thoughts ran rampant, static crawled over his skull. Connections were striving to be made. His vision shook and bled but all he could think of was-

_\-- Amrallan._

“You lie!” He spat, his voice gaining the courage of years. “Something is not right. I would not keep such a thing and you would not let me keep it- where are my brothers- _where is Amrallan?!_ ”

His shrieks ripped the world apart.

Weightlessness overtook him, a sensation of falling while nothing moved. Feet eventually met a paved floor, scraps of wall crinkled into place. The construction was as if made of paper, curled and burnt- but this was still a hall in the Circle Tower.

“You must know you cannot face me directly.” As he spoke he brought up both hands, a swirl of energy brandishing frost in each. He understood now- he would stalk this nightmare through the Fade and extinguish it, as he'd sworn to do.

Meaningful strides brought him down the hall, stepping over or around patches of abyss where the environment had caved. In his desperation to escape the dream he must have weakened it.

Even shredded and badly pieced together, he recognised the library. The door was ajar and he spied floating books, more missing dream, toppled bookcases...

“Said just as the _great-and-honourable Keeper Lavellan_ must be expected to say it! But is there no one you're incapable of facing?”

It was not right, the texture of that voice- but it was clear who the nightmare intended to mock.

For a fraction he was paralysed.

A demon wearing Dorian Pavus' face appeared at the library entrance, mouth stretched in a taunting curve that was nothing like the real Dorian's playful smirks. He hesitated too long, the creature slithered into his thoughts.

“Ah, you can't stand this face, can you? He can't stand you, either. You remind each other of how pathetic you truly are, isn't that fascinating?”

Fury bubbled within and he tossed his hands, crystals of magic burst and froze the creature to the core. He shattered through and into the library with a determined kick.

“And yet you admire him, don't you? More than that, maybe...You try to bury it but it's always there. A flicker of heat.”

A new mimic grinned toothily from his side and he felt he'd wretch in anger. He would not flatter it with words but the flurry of icicles said enough. Its form disintegrated like ancient fabric.

Two hands abruptly splayed against his chest, a voice whispering with deformed intimacy near his ear.

“So tell me, _Evallan_ , do you want to kill me or kiss me?”

Heart exploding, he whirled on the invader with a snarl. He just could not hold his tongue any longer!

“You are _not_ Dorian Pavus and _you will not regard me in such a way!_ ” His fist lunged, restraint splitting into so many fibres. In his mania he could not aim and the mimic ducked.

“Oh, but he could?” It's hand snatched and there was no doubt what was missing. “I suppose he could have this too?”

Dorian's birthright extended from between the demon's fingers, swaying. He couldn't think, all he comprehended was twisting desperation. Hands swiped for the amulet but the duplicate evaded him each time- the floor was riddled with endless void and it pranced over the terrain while Evallan fought to keep up.

“ _Give that back!!_ ” His conviction waned rapidly.

“Why? It's mine, isn't it?” The demon guffawed, always one step ahead. It paused at the edge of a gaping tear with arm extended, jostling the amulet above nothing. The only way for Evallan to reach was teetering, hand flailing, almost leaning into the fake Dorian.

“ _It is not!_ ” He screamed so loud his own ears throbbed, the imitation angled its face close to one.

“I hold your heart in my hands right now, don't I, Evallan?”

“ _Give it back!!_ ”

Unable to contain himself, he sprang from the brink. The amulet was caught in both hands and clutched with aching force. It was all that mattered as he careened into blackness.

A thump of fade-dust and he was curled on the ground, cradling the object to his chest. For some time, he allowed himself to be motionless. To breathe, to think.

Dorian's trial had been similar and ended much earlier- from what Evallan could hazard within the Fade. Still he was overwhelmed with sympathy for the man and shame towards himself- the demon was perverse and cheap but Dorian had only ever been welcoming towards Evallan.

In turn, he'd been frigid at best and vicious at worst. He couldn't imagine what his mirror image had told the other man and didn't want to.

This demon was a cruel thing and it filled Evallan with hatred.

But he felt inept and small, so he held the birthright and sobbed until someone spoke.

“You always were so childish, Eldest! Do you not realise the amulet is part of the dream?”

Another person he would rather not face. Lifting, he realised he stood in a quiet meadow. Spring flowers in all their inviting shades blanketed the ground and there his deceased counterpart stood, with a smile so bright the sun couldn't hope to compete.

“I still will not have demons paw at it.” He snarled, wrapping the birthrights chain tight around one hand. He would not be caught by surprise again.

“You misunderstand me.” The spirit imitating Amrallan Lavellan beamed. His chest felt heavy.

“There is little of rationality to be understood in a dream.” He grumbled and inspected, uncertain how to proceed.

“You are quite incorrect,” It mused with the same whimsical quality the living Amrallan once had. “There is much rationality in The Fade. If you had not lied to Dorian Pavus, he may have done better to teach you.”

“You will have to be more specific.” He was unable to count the amount of lies he'd told Dorian Pavus- every time their eyes met it was deception.

“This is not _Rage_ ,” The spirit gestured around them. “This is _Temptation_...Desire. You know, brother, you really have not changed at all!”

“ _You_ are not my brother.” He stated, suddenly finding resolution- this was meaningless. There was no purpose in speaking to a figment of someone he'd failed- and certainly not if the topic would regard Dorian Pavus!

“No,” The spirit admitted. “But I can help.”

His vision blurred.

“ _I do not care.”_ The action pained him but still he drew a thick wall between them. He did not hurt the spirit but hoped it took heed as he strode from the meadow. Doorways materialised before him and he knew all would lead to the Circle Tower- and to the library.

_Everything must be destroyed._

_Collapse the illusion entirely._

Frost trailed after as he walked, embedding into the dream, making it brittle. Unnatural creaks and groans sang around him, the winter he inspired was so fierce his own limbs began to numb.

“It's funny.”

Here they were once more. Across an overflowing table, dust reflecting rays of light from high windows, Dorian smiling pleasantly. But it was all wrong. It had to be brought down to its foundation. The enveloping mist thickened.

“Dorian didn't want to talk to his family either. I wonder what that means?” It tilted it's head with a triumphant flash of teeth.

“It means you have plagued this accursed tower for too long, demon!” Ice split all it entrenched, the shatter echoing throughout every corner of the Fade.

“Ah, there's that Lavellan temper!” The nightmare roared it's amusement. “No wonder your clan outlawed fire- how this tower would _burn!_ But look at yourself, Evallan....You're still losing control. You're to die as your mother did, burying everything you hold dear.”

“And there would be nothing left of _you_!” But as he ground out those words he knew there was truth in it. His current path- to annihilate the dream- was foolhardy. The repercussions in the physical realm could not be known. To destroy the demon, he had to strip it of its illusion without destructive force.

The only way was with a part of himself that had been cloistered in the armoury. While he balanced his options and likelihood of success, the demon sensed his intent, taunting;

“Do you _really_ think I'll give you time to draw a summoning circle? I only allowed it of _this_ fool because he was writing complete gibberish!”

Now it was Evallan's turn to laugh, though deliriously.

“You take so much from others...yet you truly _learn_ nothing, do you?” There was no way to ensure success- he had never attempted what he was about to do. But he knew that in theory, it should be as inherent to him as breathing.

He laid his hand over his chest, willing a pulse of magic into himself. A glimmer came to life along the intricate designs traditionally inked by his people. It would be clear to the demon then, if it had not been already.

The patterns needled into Evallan's flesh upon adulthood- they were not true Vallaslin.

“ _I_ am the summoning circle, you fool. _”_ His voice wavered as if plunged underwater, light poured from the false Vallaslin. He couldn't imagine how it appeared but it felt like liquid- like bleeding ink all over again. But some pain is productive- the Dalish would know, some suffering contains knowledge.

A brilliance captivated every nook of the dream and pulsed into his right hand as if his soul were a sieve. Comfortable weight formed in his palm and fingers coiled around the familiar hilt, the amulets chain entangled between both. He reared forth with divine blade in hand and the demon staggered, face distorting.

“ _Do you wonder what sort of savage you must look like to him?- Do you wonder what he saw in the Fade that was so disturbing?-”_

The creature could attack all it wanted but Lightbringer smelled the fear. Evallan was still but a boy in comparison to her, an ancient knight of faith. The demon was a worm in her sights and as she extended from her wielder, he too identified the worm for the low thing it was.

Tendrils of light burrowed into every conceivable dimension, wrangling them apart. Nothing of the illusion would remain indeed- it was just the demon, writhing and bubbling as it struggled to find consistency, and Lightbringer- an ethereal being of immense size, emanating radiance within and around her chosen.

Crumpled on the ground, the demon's final illusion fought to hold.

It was Evallan Lavellan.

He looked down on himself piteously. If it was the same as Dorian's nightmare, it was quite repulsive indeed. Elongated and feral-seeming, the ghastly imitation regarded him with features screaming disgust. He returned the sentiment.

“Ah, yes, there it is, _shame_...” It had been too exposed to usurp his voice, he took pleasure in that. “You couldn't save your family, you can't save your clan....You're nothing but an attack dog. But _this_ is your greatest shame. Belittling him, attacking him, _stealing_ from him...

Who's face do you think of as you fall asleep, Evallan? Your mother's? Your brother's? Noo! _That_ would be the shame of a Keeper...

 _And you are no Keeper, Evallan Lavellan._ ”

They allowed the nightmare its death throes, observing almost with sympathy.

“That maybe so,” The spent mage sighed, blade poised above his head. “But it is _my_ shame, regardless."

In a single motion the nightmare was struck down.

\--

“Lavellan! _YIELD!_ ”

The familiar boom of the Templar Commander shook his consciousness. Stiffness and pain gradually transmitted through a haze, slow awareness of metal clutched in both hands.

“ _Put down Lightbringer NOW!_ ”

He could not comprehend what was happening but did as directed. Grip loosed, Lightbringer clattered, her blade dimmed. The Harrowing chamber swam into focus to unveil quite a scene. Marcus stood closest, face crimson, eyes wild and sword drawn. Behind him, Templar recruits shivered in their boots, awaiting direction.

A miniature snowstorm had steadily grown around Lavellan- legs rooted to the spot and arms almost icicles, clothes stiff. Something was stuck to his palm- he recognised it immediately as a chain.

Though he had urgent questions, weakness beckoned him to the floor, snow flaking from limbs. While people rushed to his side and Marcus yelled orders, he stole the chain away into his robes but noted it lacked the amulet. He understood immediately.

_I had to use you to repair the chain- but only the chain._

_It snapped once- I knew it would again._

_It still grieves me._

When he awoke he was being fussed over by healers and Marcus frantically explained events. The Harrowing dragged on for hours until magic ebbed around the mage, the next thing they knew he was chanting Dalish and Lightbringer materialised in his grasp.

The demon was gone but it was called into question how valid of a Harrowing it was. Lavellan submitted himself to tests without complaint. Truly he had not the stamina to do anything but nod or relay short answers.

His will and vitals were measured, he was made to drink potion. He was cut, something in the blood was appraised. Lightbringer was placed on one of the lowest levels of the tower and he was instructed to summon the blade, he did so.

They attempted to summon the blade themselves; they held it and recited incantation, they charged it with magic, they drew summoning circles, they ventured into the Fade and drew circles there. Lightbringer would not come.

By this process they deduced what Evallan had known most of his life- Lightbringer was part of him within the Fade. No matter the location, it was a piece that sought completion. To hamper the bond would require blood magic or Tranquillity, so their tests halted.

If there had been any fight left in him when he'd escaped the Fade, he probably wouldn't have bore the tedious and dehumanising process. It was via exhaustion of mentality and will that he slumped through each task so passively.

When he was brought to Irving he felt a zombie but focused hard to digest every word and respond with direct, sensible answers.

“Have you ever summoned Lightbringer in that fashion?”

“No, First Enchanter.”

“Were you aware you could?”

“I was aware it was a possibility, First Enchanter.”

“Was it purposeful?”

“Yes, First Enchanter.”

“You were having trouble with the demon?”

“It would flee, I wished it destroyed.”

Irving slanted in his chair, fingers steepled.

“I am sure I cannot fault you for wanting to rid the world of a demon, but I will have to think on this and discuss it with Greagoir. You are free to go to your chambers for now, Lavellan.”

Marcus angled to escort him and he recalled growling, finding strength somewhere.

“ _I do not need help.”_

\--

The remainder of the night in unsteady glimpses;

_There is no reason for you to be here._

Yet he melted naturally into Dorian Pavus and slid his arms just as easily around him.

_But is it really you?_

A name the Tevinter shouldn't have but how he pronounced it was crucial. The demon could never succeed in fooling him with this voice. It could only be utilised for torment because every nuance was imprinted as if against his chest, as much a constant as the amulet he could never part with.

_I remember- that was how._

The Chantry could execute him on impulse if they wished and he would die with one more glaring regret. He had no choice in that moment but to submit to his desire before darkness swept awareness and nerve away.

Other things he vaguely recalled, episodes of more lucidity or less. The one consistency was Dorian at his side whenever he ailed.

_Dorian._

_What is he still doing here?_

_He is such a fool!_

At some point the room was vivid with daylight and his fever had broke. Blinking away sleep, he saw Fila positioning a tray for the slumbering human. Another was in her hand and seeing her brother awake, she sat aside him and placed it on his lap.

“I am not hungry.” He stated automatically, chords scratched.

“That's the first thing you're going to say to me?” She pouted. “You're so rude, Eldest!”

A joke- but it successfully shamed him, head lowering.

“Good morning, Fila.”

“Good morning, Eldest!” She chirped and pushed the tray towards him. Ignoring it, his attention drifted to where Dorian was curled at the desk.

“What do you look so serious for?” Fila probed, unhappy because whatever it was interfered with breakfast.

“He will not leave.” He couldn't help blurting and was glad Fila only giggled.

“He was helping you! He helped me and Titus too. Dorian's like that.”

He brooded at the unappetising collection of food.

“Is he?”

“Mhm! I think he's happy you're here- it's funny, I don't remember you liking each other...Didn't you hit him once, or something? I could have sworn...”

To appease her and save himself speech, he picked at bits of fruit, eyes downcast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gently places this song down to accompany the last two chapters:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJZDHW6txk4
> 
> I said the chapter would be late but it was early is that fucked up or what.


	5. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 2) Dorian and Evallan have the opportunity to spend more time together, and an expedition prepares for an assault on the Deep Roads.

Whereas Dorian's Harrowing had been raised up as an inspiring success, Lavellan's was regarded as catastrophic near-failure, though no one could say exactly what occurred but him. Nor was Dorian about to pry- Evallan respected his deceit and evasiveness during their tutelage, he was obliged to the Keeper's privacy.

The decision on whether to repeat the Harrowing was not taken lightly and for once Dorian and Evallan were in the same predicament. Evallan, as of now, couldn't be trusted to serve and Dorian, perceived as the teacher who ill-prepared him, was once more not entrusted with anything of relevance.

“I'm surprised there's not rumours I ensnared him with blood magic.” He sulked over breakfast with the usual suspects.

“There might be, why would anyone share them with _us_?” Elias pointed out optimistically.

“Oh, brilliant! I feel so much better!”

“Maybe you'd feel better if you actually _worked_ in the library instead of _drinking_ in the library?” Katerina grumbled, having had quite enough as the Senior Mage charged to that area.

“What work is there to do? If I have to translate _one more_ blighted text that ends up being some ancient dwarf's shopping list!”

“It's what we _do_ there, Dorian. You're signed up as a researcher!”

“Why don't you yell at Elias?” He whined. “He doesn't do anything either- when he's even there!”

“ _He'_ s not signed up as a researcher!”

“It's true,” Elias bobbed his head affirmatively. “I'm not signed up as anything.”

“And you wonder why the Chantry don't give you the time of day?” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“ _I_ want to fight Darkspawn,” His friend defended with a sniff. “ _I_ practise my magic most of the day. What are _you_ doing right now-- _except_ drinking?”

“I _did_ do something!” He spluttered with indignation. “And it was the _one thing_ I was confidently entrusted to do- and it was a _disaster!_ I can't even ask what happened to correct any mistakes I made!- Oh by the way, Lavellan, do you recall that horrifying trial you underwent? Would you mind explaining to me what was so traumatic that weeks of my tutelage _were made void!?_ ”

He slouched with much exaggeration. It didn't help he hadn't spoken to Evallan since his Harrowing- if the elf held Dorian responsible for his blunder, he couldn't say. There was also no way to ask after his well being without feeling suspicious. To anyone else it could seem only that he was agitated towards the failure- it was for the best.

But the old routine of tedium, sporadic drinking and reading the same books repeatedly was what truly ired him. Fila must have known as much, shooting him a smile across the table.

“You should work in the garden with us again- you're so good with the plants, Dorian! Titus doesn't know what he's doing.”

The plant-destroyer placed down his fork and pouted.

“They're plants! They just sit there! How can someone be good with them?” He complained while Fila shushed sweetly, patting his cheek. Dorian snorted at the pair.

“Don't be so offended, Titus. She's just trying to flatter me so I'll do something with myself.”

Fila reached across the table to squeeze his hand, embodying sisterly innocence as she grinned.

“And it's working, yes? _Yeees?_ Yes it is!”

Something in his smile as he rolled his eyes must have signified defeat. He went without resistance.

Work in the garden was satisfying, he had to admit. Kept active, he did not think so much and observing the fruits of his labour gratified him. As a younger man he'd been tasked to organise and care for the area. Fila had naturally inherited the role from him years ago- it was a decent placement for a mage fresh out of apprenticeship.

The garden had expanded overtime and the centre pond widened but there was still a clear space on the grounds between the barracks, attached armoury and the tower itself. Like the apothecary he'd been housed in as a youth, these smaller, miscellaneous buildings were low and had an impression of dank even looking at the weathered walls.

Sounds of exertion drew his attention there and he discovered where Evallan hid himself- in plain sight. Two forms danced vigorously upon the flat ground between barracks and tower, the Templar Marcus swinging his sword with practised ease. Evallan lunged and sprang around the bulkier man, Lightbringer whirling like the wings of an insect.

“He trains here?” He asked Fila, who was busying herself trying to repair something after a certain someone's clumsy intervention.

“Why did you cut so much! You're not giving it a haircut Ti- oh?” She glanced at her clan-brother. “Every day with Marcus. You never see him go?”

“He wakes so early. I had no idea where he'd been.” He shrugged, continuing to observe. It was evident even to his civilian eye why the sparring was so strenuous- Evallan was accustomed to utilising Lightbringer as a channelling apparatus. His muscle memory was at a disadvantage in single combat with educated opponents and though it was marvellous to watch, the flaws were blatant once understood.

That also explained Lightbringer's presence- holding an empty hilt with a glowing blade had to be a stark difference from the weight of a physical sword. Training with anything other than Lightbringer itself would be wasted effort.

“Stop changing your grip like that, _Maker!_ Do you _listen_ , Lavellan?!” Marcus dictated severely, smashing Evallan away like a gnat. The elf was visibly flushed and launched again, practically screaming. Again, he was deflected.

“ _ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP THROWING YOURSELF AT ME LIKE A GIRL OR ARE YOU GOING TO HOLD YOUR SWORD PROPERLY!?”_ The Templar was near-sobbing in frustration, Dorian could hazard a guess as to how long this had dragged- years, perhaps! Evallan rebounded towards his opponent, defiant.

“He seems quite restless.” He tried not to sound too concerned.

“I don't think he likes practising with Marcus.” Fila answered, frowning at the two.

He quietly agreed. Though he had no idea what their history may entail the distaste between them was palpable- it would have been uncomfortable even without the Templar's howls. They looked one movement away from a genuine bout and fought as two dogs of contrasting breeds; the Templar a muscled, vicious blood hound and the elf a scrappy, half-crazed wolf. By their very nature they could do nothing but be at odds.

When Marcus halted for refreshment or a stretch, Evallan paced like a caged animal. When Evallan finally yielded and sat to rest, Marcus stood like a broken clock, smacking gauntlets against his helm and audibly muttering.

It was a miserable sport to be audience of and Dorian soon fixated on less upsetting details. Lightbringer was of great fascination, especially after Evallan's Harrowing. An incredible weapon- but it was the runes and function that captivated him.

All these details coalesced into an idea his idle hands knew they had to seize upon.

\--

Dorian woke uncharacteristically early and ventured into the armoury. Most was closed off- you couldn't spit in the Circle without hitting some ancient arcane weapon, even if they could not all be Lightbringer. Fortunately all he required was an empty hilt and mere tools.

It wasn't a summoning circle he meticulously branded into the hilt- it would be foolish to embark on such when he had no idea what the consequences might be, or how exactly a spirit was bound to Lightbringer and in turn, Lightbringer bound to Evallan.

For his purpose he required something much simpler.

By the time his task was complete the grounds were slowly littering with people. Stepping out of the armoury, he spied Evallan on a bench near his sparring ground. Trying to contain his merriment but smiling nonetheless, he sauntered over and plopped himself next to the Keeper.

“Look what I have.” He revealed the object to Evallan- a discarded hilt from an old blade. A sort of ugly thing, really- its surface carefully decorated with scant runes. The elf regarded it with utmost seriousness but Dorian was convinced he saw a twinge of amusement.

“They are not the same.” He stated, holding up his own half-sword. Correct, the objects were almost nothing alike. Lightbringer was worn by years of battle but still maintained grace, even as a mere thing- and the inscriptions were far from identical.

“Oh, of course!” He chuckled slyly. “Yours _'has a spirit in it'_ , I hear? A _'Sword of Faith'_?”

Evallan peered, eyes hesitant and lips thinning. Dorian knew what he debated with himself and seized upon the indecision.

“You Dalish and your secrets!” He ribbed but in pointed manner. “You know, if you want people to understand you, you may have to relent on a few of those- occasionally.”

Nothing was said while Evallan searched his face, though it was unknown to Dorian what he hunted.

“It is a Sword of Faith. It _'has a spirit in it'._ ” He relented and Dorian had to suppress his enthusiasm.

“Fascinating! What purpose does it serve, exactly?”

The Keeper fidgeted uncertainly but yielded again with a side-long glance.

“She is an ancient Spirit of Faith. She has protected my clan throughout generations and countless forms. Lightbringer's presence wards off the weakest of demons and nullifies some forms of passive magic. However, her true potential is unlocked only when the weapon is held by its bound wielder..”

That filled in some blanks for Dorian, clarifying;

“So there _is_ a little summoning circle in there?”

“You could liken it to that.”

Dorian appraised his own weapon with mock-derision.

“All I did was reverse a barrier.”

The tiniest sound escaped Evallan, Dorian's eyes pinned the elf and noticed a twitching mouth. His chest tingled and he ignored it while scoffing.

“Oh! That's funny to you, is it?”

Evallan gave off a demeanour of practicality but the asymmetry of his lips betrayed him.

“Actually, it is quite resourceful. They simply are not the same.”

“Well, I think it will be useful, anyway.” He let out a playful huff.

“Only if you learn to wield it.”

“It's a good thing you're here then, isn't it?” He couldn't help the sly expression that captured his features, coaxing though truly he was not serious. It was enough to lighten the Keeper's mood with the flattery- he couldn't imagine how shameful it would be for Evallan to lift Lightbringer against an untrained layabout from Tevinter.

Yet he straightened and drifted into sparring position, Lightbringer pointed towards Dorian, blade ignited. If he didn't know any better he'd say the elf looked downright whimsical.

“What, _really?_ ” He pushed off the bench but wavered with new weapon in hand, unsure.

“Let us see if it even works, no?” A brow perked at him. Dorian's throat tightened but he was smirking as he swept a hand over the aged hilt, runes emblazoning, then the whole blade as fire and energy combined to manifest the shape.

“What do you think of _that_?” Dorian boasted with a flourish of burning blade.

“Have you ever held a sword before?” His tone was light.

“Not with the actual intent to hit anyone with it, no.”

“Then we take it slow.” His new sparring partner suggested quite cordially, even offering Dorian a bow before he positioned for attack.

“ _You_ can take it slow, Lavellan- I learn by doing!”

He lunged much in the way he observed the elf lunge at the Templar. It was nothing for the battle-hardened mage to counter. Their blades clashed with sparks of crimson and ice and this time when an expression stole Evallan's features, it was undoubtedly a smile.

It went without saying the elf had to be careful, allowing Dorian to lead so as to avoid any accidental injury and only supplying quick spurts of advice when necessary. Still it was invigorating to crash and stumble and be pushed and diverted.

He more than obliged Dorian and in turn, he was convinced his opponent was actually having fun.

Eventually the sun brightened and a demanding shout halted their match.

“Tevinter! Stop bothering my recruit! Maker, _two_ fairies not holding swords right!” Marcus stormed towards them, visually repulsed by the amateurish display, sword in hand. Dorian was quietly submitting and Evallan casting a frown when another voice piped up- an aged but kind croak.

“Leave them be, Rorick. I think they can both benefit from these techniques, no?”

For how long Irving witnessed them from a bench, munching into breakfast, Dorian couldn't say. He almost felt a rush of embarrassment but was thankful for the intervention- Marcus stomped away grinding teeth and Dorian heard the smash as he discarded gear into the armoury.

However this made him notice Fila milling about the garden with Titus, occasionally shooting an endearing look at the duo. She couldn't have minded but still he felt a pang of guilt.

“Lavellan- Fila- I told her I'd help- _ow!_ ”

Lightbringer smacked his sword-wielding hand- a light tap, really- he still dropped his weapon from the static.

“ _She_ is not the one who needs help.” Evallan's voice was steel but he regarded Dorian with absolute warmth.

“You don't play fair, Lavellan!” He swiped up his blade, throwing himself back into motion without delay.

No one seemed to mind the boisterous Tevinter found something to occupy his hours even if it involved embarrassing himself. On lazier days people even spectated, though never a large amount- he supposed gushing over Lightbringer as it sliced circles around him was only interesting for so long.

For the majority of their bouts Evallan could be described as near-gentlemanly, it was clear he had no desire to humiliate the Tevinter and preferred he learn something. However sometimes Dorian swore he'd get bored, or wished to test how much of his education was being absorbed.

He could predict when it was about to occur because Evallan's motions first became sluggish- tracking Dorian back and forth on the field without attack but observing like an animal about to pounce.

Then he pounced. Until he was satisfied in Dorian's reactions, he would not cease. Initially it was more than intimidating, a mad tornado of an elf whacking and weaving. If it weren't for his equally shocking restraint, Dorian would have yielded.

Instead he'd hooted near-hysterically, stumbling back and flailing every time he caught a whiff of Lightbringer.

“ _Lavellan!_ You Dalish never heard of _'take a man's life but spare him his balls'?!_ ” He'd crackled out amidst his laughter and Evallan smirked, easing.

“You said you learn by doing?”

Evallan was tireless- both in technique and subtle teasing. It was inevitable after a while of this Dorian felt they could be considered quite familiar. The Keeper may have denied their friendship before but he could do no such thing now!- Dorian wouldn't ask, but he assured himself.

In the middle of one of their more fast-paced lessons Dorian had to yield- both exhausted and beginning to overheat. Since Evallan was in one of his playful moods- the way a feral wolf is playful- he decided he shouldn't be the only one so mercilessly taunted.

All he did was remove the upper layer of his robes so he could fight in his trousers and boots but he knew it would lead to a reprimand.

“You cannot train like that.” The elf's voice was thin.

“Why not? It's hot. I have a _flaming sword_ , Lavellan.” He tossed the material to one side.

“Will you be dressed as such on a battlefield?” Evallan's brows knit in genuine annoyance, Dorian snickered and retorted sweetly.

“No, but you'll be fighting _with_ me, not _against_ me, so I'll be doing _much_ less work.”

It was probably just the exertion but the flush of colour in that grim face still pleased him.

“This is not a game, Dorian.”

“And yet we're having so much fun!” He winked as he charged- it was one of the few times he'd seen the Keeper stumble.

It was harmless fun- he hadn't forgotten the kiss but failed to see how it meant anything. From all he could tell of Lavellan's Harrowing, it had driven the poor man half-mad. Therefore he didn't even consider his innocent jests to be that outrageous until Elias and Katerina beckoned him over afterwards, both hooting.

“Were you flirting with Lavellan?” Katerina was the first to inquire.

“What? Preposterous!” It was hardly a damning accusation though, so he chuckled. “We're friends, I'm being friendly.”

“Sure,” Apparently he was to receive some friendly advice from Elias. “But you should know he won't touch humans, anyway.”

Dorian found this difficult to believe for a variety of reasons that he would not humiliate Evallan by listing.

“Where in _Andraste's name_ did you hear that?”

“From the recruits. He doesn't even shake hands.”

“That can't be true! He shook my hand!-” Sort of. “- we're practically on a first name basis!”

Katerina folded her arms, smirking.

“Oh right? What's his name?”

“If I told you I'd have to kill you, or he'd kill all three of us.” He sauntered away, not wanting to entertain their curiosity more than that, though Elias jeered after him;

“ _You don't know his name!”_

But not long after he discovered there may be some truth to that rumour.

The pair had been at a vigorous match but Lavellan's behaviour was peculiar- preoccupied by Dorian's sword. He fell back frequently- in itself unusual- and when he stepped forward he whipped the flaming blade, once, and retreated.

This made Dorian cautious- if Evallan was fixated on something it would certainly come to fruition. Yet he was unprepared when the Keeper barrelled forth and hammered into his sword- not once or twice but over and over. He was forced to edge back, pressing his blade forward to reflect one identical attack after another.

“ _Evallan!”_ He was so flustered it slipped out with his panicked giggles. _“Have you gone mad?!”_

Cool eyes were thoughtful, face lax, he angled Lightbringer again.

“Your weapon.”

 _“Wha-?”_ Dorian looked.

“It is unstable.”

Though they had trained for weeks, the elf did not predict his opponent would comprehend and respond so seamlessly.

The form of his sword was indeed compromised- it was impossible to tell in that instant where the flaw originated but it manifested as a chip of energy in the middle of the blade. All this time, Evallan hacked at the offending vulnerability and he meant to accentuate his point by cleaving the shape in two.

At the last moment Dorian shifted the tarnished weapon and released, allowing Evallan to smack it with the full conviction of Lightbringer. It would do him no good as he was out-manoeuvred. All his weight falling towards his weapon, he was helpless when Dorian grabbed around the waist and bodily yanked him from their fallen swords.

Perhaps Evallan's wouldn't have careened from his grasp with Dorian's if he was not so stubborn in how he held it!

Mid-motion and Keeper in one arm, the logical conclusion was to throw- but a memory of the Templar bouncing the elf like a bug occurred and he halted- he'd won, anyway. There was no need to dirty the brash mage's pristine robes.

If he'd been permitted, he would have rattled off something humorous as they stood almost chest-to-chest- but Evallan was writhing and yelling.

“What are you doing?! Release me! _Put me_ _down!_ ”

He appeared and sounded so terrified Dorian was swift to comply. Evallan fell on his hands, rolled, grabbed Lightbringer- and ran.

Dorian stood sheepishly and didn't have time to consider what transpired before Marcus appeared in the barracks entrance.

“ _Fairy!_ Are you accosting my recruit!?”

Indignation boiled as he dashed away from the Templar to stalk after the distressed elf- vanishing into the tower with weapon still aglow.

“ _I did no such thing!”_ He didn't! He'd caught him- that's all he'd done!

He found Evallan exiting his room, composure flawless, Lightbringer holstered. He met Dorian passively.

“Evallan- I'm sorry- I don't really know what happened but-”

“You did nothing.” He insisted without pause. “Come, we will restructure the runes.”

“But- you were so upset?” Dorian blinked, lost.

Evallan tilted his head patiently.

“Next time I fall, do not catch me. It is a bad habit for your arm.”

“That's _it?_ ” He couldn't believe it was as petty as that but the elf was tight-lipped. His only interest was repairing the object. As with everything else between them, he was forced to let it go.

\--

A mass of Wardens and various other recruits arrived over a few days and everything buzzed. Dorian regretted making Evallan wait for him so he could dine with friends at the beginning of the day- if it was going to be this squashed he'd have to start keeping the same hours.

“I hear,” Elias fought to be louder than everyone else in the dining hall. “They're gathering people to go into the Deep Roads.”

“Well could they do it somewhere else?” Dorian grunted and twisted around to pluck two letters from the mail-runner who approached. He glanced at the tell-tale handwriting of his father and shuffled it behind the other envelope- he'd considered Evallan's words but was loathe to pick the scab.

The seal on the second paper was more intriguing and he urged the mail-runner before he could commence running.

“What is this? Not a mistake?”

“I have one too.” Elias lifted an identical seal- the Chantry sun and a stamp that said in authoritative uniformity ' _YOU ARE CALLED TO SERVE_.'

“I don't know,” The boy pouted. “I just give them out.” And he ran.

“Why didn't I get one?” Katerina scowled after him. “Maybe it's alphabetical.”

“It has to be, why else would they pick me?” He laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to feel. It didn't mean he would serve in Tevinter and picking the letter apart, it confirmed he wouldn't. The way the Chantry put it, he'd been ' _chosen to bolster local forces against threats emerging from the Deep Roads'._ There were rumours the raids had become frequent and disastrous, though the tower was only impacted by lack of resources in the aftermath.

“Well, you got your wish. And I get to sit on my arse.” Katerina griped to Elias.

“This wasn't my wish,” Elias griped in return. “I mean- I'm not complaining, not exactly- but it's not Tevinter, and it's not the Wardens.”

“It'll be nice to leave the tower, at least.” That's all he had to feel about it for now- other than an instant curiosity he satiated by heading outside, leaving his friends mystified.

When he asked him, Evallan lofted a brow as if it went without saying.

“I will serve, as an additional test.”

“That's better than another Harrowing, I think?” He grinned hopefully.

“It is.” His tone was certain.

They had to suspend the friendly games for now- preparations were to be made and Dorian wouldn't be accused of slacking. Elias was correct it wasn't Tevinter- but they were given a purpose. That the threats were local was probably the exact reason for the shifting standards.

According to the letter he was to report to Marcus but surveillance of the armoury and barracks revealed the Templar Commander to be swarmed. He stomped across the grounds with recruits and mages at his heels, barking, scribbling on pieces of parchment, jabbing people away while he issued orders. Dorian would have to catch up with him later.

For now it was clear where his place should be- Fila too was mobbed, this time by a group of only mages. In the middle of the garden they shouted over each other, all convinced they knew what to uproot and pack first, all insisting to be heard.

To her credit Fila was handling it well- especially as someone younger and lower in Circle hierarchy than most of those making demands. Her posture could almost match her Eldest Brother's as she stood with hands on hips, scolding and hushing while Titus scowled alongside her. Elias was also present but his helpless smile made it clear he could offer no assistance.

“ _Alright, alright!”_ Dorian did his utmost to roar over the rest, squeezing himself between bodies to place himself squarely at Fila's other side. “ _Stop crowding!_ You can't do anything without her say, anyway!”

There were a few grumbles but the group spread out reluctantly, leaving Elias standing closest and with a sheepish grin.

“Thank you, Dorian!” Fila sang.

“ _Morons!_ ” Titus growled, then spat at Elias. “You could have helped!”

“I'm trying!” The blonde insisted. “I was _trying_ to ask if she needed a hand!”

“Thank you too, Elias.” Fila said sincerely, grasping Titus' wrist so he would bite his tongue.

“What _actually_ needs gathering, then?” Dorian surveyed the area.

“You're not going to need everything, I think,” She considered, tapping her chin. “But most of the elfroot should definitely go. The Templars might want the embrium- might as well take the lot of that.”

Instructions given and the crowd finally tame, they set to work. While clipping plants Dorian found himself alongside Elias and wondered aloud.

“Katerina didn't want to help?”

“Sulking in the library, probably!” His lips twitched, not seeming as amused as he might want to appear. “I wish she was coming too. Her reviews always went better than mine and you're right I _don't_ do anything- so it doesn't really seem fair.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, Dorian joked, nudging Elias in the side.

“Afraid she won't be there to look after you, is that it?”

This earned the typical scoff he'd predicted, the other mage pushing his shoulder before returning to his task. By the time they were finished the sky was beginning to darken and the chaos settling. Dorian left the task of carrying away the gathered ingredients to the others, deciding now was best to report in- before they returned and formed a new herd.

Luckily Marcus wasn't far. Dorian located him outside the barracks, leaning on a wall with exhausted creases warping the scars that crossed his face.

“Commander Rorick?” He hoped the respectful greeting would lead to a civil exchange.

“Fairy,” Marcus ground out and straightened. “Hope you're ready to serve.”

“That I am!” Dorian beamed with as much friendliness as he could muster.

“Really now?” The Templar touched his brow in annoyance, visibly unmoved. “After the wreck you made out of my recruit's Harrowing, you're lucky to be going anywhere.”

Dorian blinked at this, perplexed.

“If that's the case, why was I chosen?”

“Irving insisted,” Poison dripped from his words. “Seems to think it's better _you_ go than some other layabout. Personally? I think even using you as a human shield would be hopeless.”

He felt his mouth tighten but resisted the urge to counter. The Templar appeared satisfied by this restraint at least, exalting a breathe as he whipped a piece of parchment from his cloak and thrust it towards Dorian.

“Here's your acquisition form. Fuck off to the armoury.”

He did so without hesitation.

Only a small bustle of people remained and though he was sure he spied a flash of pale robes, he fixated on his goal. The last thing he needed was for Marcus to march in and accuse him of wasting time. He fell into the short line before the thick counter that divided the room, the gates on each side that secured the weapons sealed and locked.

This enhanced restriction was a concern- Dorian never thought to stash his sword elsewhere- who would want a rusted hilt with some incomprehensible backwards-written rune?

That was exactly what the armourer and the remainder of people wanted to know when he gestured to it in the back and insisted;

“That's mine, too. I'll need that.”

“That? It's junk.”

“No it isn't,” He couldn't suppress the indignation, especially after withstanding Marcus' insults. “I'll have you know that's the sister-blade to Lightbringer!”

“Oh, fuck off, Pavus!” Someone heckled.

“It's junk with _'fire'_ written on it!” The armourer was in utter disbelief,

“It is not junk.” The prideful notes were so rarely heard it took everyone except Dorian a moment to track their source. “I helped craft that blade.”

None of them could say when Evallan appeared- he had a similar habit Dorian recalled from his mother, of becoming a ghostly tree in the background. If his eyes hadn't been trained over weeks of sparring to spot those white robes from any direction, he likely wouldn't have noticed either.

The Keeper's demeanour was calm and he looked only at the armourer. A delicious silence ensued as people hushed and the Templar begrudgingly slammed the offensive object onto the partition.

“I tried to tell you!” Dorian sighed as he snatched the weapon, secretly thrilled Evallan did nothing to correct the wild claims.

After that he was admittedly enthused to serve and travel alongside Evallan, then disappointed when the day came and he discovered the elf would travel with the Templars.

Overall the group the Circle Tower supplied was minor- but combined with Wardens, Templars and other recruits the final total leaving felt immense. Circle Mages sandwiched between Templars and Wardens, Dorian elbowed his way through until he found Elias.

It wasn't a splendid beginning. The Tower could be claustrophobic but there was always somewhere to escape- there's not anywhere to escape when you're in formation. It had slipped his mind how it unsettled him not to have free reign of the space around, always quietly terrified he'd be crushed.

Somehow he fell in line without stumbling, it helped they kept a brisk pace. People formed a stream through the tower gates and he breathed deep- he hadn't left in ten years but it was challenging to invigorate himself with that knowledge when the day would be miserable.

He chose to anchor in his surroundings. Skies weren't too dreary for Ferelden, the earth not too treacherous- perhaps it wouldn't be _so_ miserable. Eyes danced over the glinting armour of the Templars in front, thinking at least he didn't have to wear plate. As he observed, he realised one wasn't in armour at all. Someone had forced him into a Templar cloak above his usual attire, so he was briefly camouflaged, but Dorian saw now Evallan marched with the front row of Templars.

“Why is he travelling with them?” The question left before he could wonder if it was appropriate. Luckily only Elias heard and he was not like to care.

“Maybe because he has a sword? What good would he be back here?”

“I have a sword.” He argued- perhaps it was naïve but he was genuine.

“You flirt with swordplay like you flirt with Lavellan, neither of it goes anywhere.”

Outwardly he laughed but inside, he had to confess he bristled.

_But you don't know anything about him, Elias. Only what people say._

Hours of walking brought them to a dilapidated chantry and the formation halted for prayers- mostly for Templars who'd insisted upon it. The grip of the crowd loosened for now and Dorian seized the opportunity to approach Evallan.

The Keeper in his sunburst cloak had dutifully trailed after the Templars kneeling in the ruined chantry but remained outside. The image was amusing but Dorian couldn't say why- he just looked so severe for something he couldn't possibly care about.

“It must be trying, always being lumped in with the Templars.” He bantered as he met him, Evallan shrugged.

“It is where I am most useful.”

“I can't imagine you're happy about that.” He tugged at the Chantry insignia but the elf didn't seem to want to speak of it, wordlessly observing the Templars. Since he wasn't biting, Dorian switched topics.

“I should be where you are, you know.”

“I would have it corrected.”

“Really?” He felt a tug at the corner of his lips.

Evallan's face tilted to make eye contact, seeming surprised.

“You have no confidence in yourself?”

“No one else seems to.” He grinned through the truth of it and Evallan regarded him for a moment, ponderous. Gingerly taking hold of Dorian's cloak, he lured him into the cluster of trees by the chantry. Dorian went along with this but was truly nonplussed, especially when the first thing the elf did was sweep the layer with the Templar insignia from his shoulders.

“ _Maker,_ Lavellan, you really have no idea what this looks like, do you?”

The Keeper fixed him with a severe stare and unclasped Dorian's own cloak, it fell and he was on the verge of _really_ questioning these actions, then sunburst fabric drifted over him and was firmly secured.

“You will prove them wrong, but you must not speak.” Hushed words as gentle as the pair of hands that slipped the hood far over Dorian's head. Pulses of adrenaline made his lips spread giddily.

“Evallan- what - _why?_ ”

“I have confidence in you.”

“You're actually a bit of a troublemaker, aren't you?” His tone was coy- it was difficult not to be.

“I...believe I am placing you where you will be of most use.” He struggled with the words.

“But the repercussions-?”

“If you follow my lead and are not a hindrance, there will be none.”

“What is ' _none'_ in your understanding? Because Marcus-”

“Is concerned with efficiency. If you prove efficient he may not even notice.”

It was madness but how could he say no to such madness? He'd been trapped in a tower for a decade and the most infuriating and intriguing person he knew had essentially tasked him to prank the Templars- though for what? Mage honour?

_Does it matter as long as I can pretend a little longer?_

“Alright, Evallan. I'm trusting you.” He shot him a meaningful smile.

“Go ahead of me, I will follow. Do not attract attention to yourself.” Instructions clear, he departed to merge with the bodies draped in red-and-white, balancing excitement and apprehension. Slipping by the first arrangement of Templars like any other scout, they remained in conversation and he became one with the crowd.

“Lavellan, cloak!” He heard Marcus shouting, though not with its usual bite- he probably had things other than Evallan to stress him currently.

“You can fetch it from the river.” The Keeper offered from somewhere.

“Can't you _pretend_ to be part of the vanguard?!”

This received no response and though Evallan didn't appear in his sights immediately, the march continued. In time as the snake of people jostled over uneven paths and into rockier terrain, the elf gravitated to his side.

He remembered he wasn't to speak, so he didn't.

\--

Night was close to falling when they reached their destination. Treacherous ground led them upwards into low mountain, rock jutting towards a dark blue sky. The climb was draining and perilous enough Dorian rarely had to scold himself not to speak- focused on not falling and glad for the sure-footed elf. Though he never required assistance, it was reassuring to know Evallan would catch him.

The ground was more even at their stop, rocky spires cradling a wide plateau dotted with a few gnarled trees. Blight was visible here- not a single patch of green or earthy brown on the vegetation. Even in the dark he could identify the black infection that strangled every tree.

Towering above and in the middle of this barren step was a stone figure cut in sharp angles. Marred by decades of rain, the deteriorating face of the Dwarven sentinel still appeared leery of their presence. A road marker, he supposed. It had to have been constructed after the fall of the Dwarven Empire- a landmark for a nearby Deep Roads entrance.

As the procession halted a thunderous clap signalled Marcus, rearing into view on a horse as fierce as it's rider. Yet the Templar sat comfortably, yanking on the reigns with a natural aggression.

“Recruits!” He bellowed. “We camp here! Scouts! Make sure the area is clear- look out for more Wardens! Lavellan! Make sure they come back!”

Lone figures parted from the crowd to venture into the shadows and Evallan met Dorian's eyes before he stepped towards Marcus. Understanding, he began to trail after the scouts.

“Commander, may I request the presence of a Circle Mage?”

He slowed at that, wondering what the Keeper was up to.

“Grab one and go.” Marcus allowed with an impatient grunt and tugged at his horse, clopping away to bark orders at another recruit. Dorian was offered a second meaningful glance before the Keeper marched after the departing figures- he understood that too.

_Someone I trust, then._

Having calculated much about the situation during their travel, he had an inkling as to Evallan's intent. Pushing through the crowd, he reasoned with himself not to have _too much_ fun- it was serious, after all!

Spotting a familiar puff of straw hair, he wordlessly clapped the adjacent shoulder and separated the poor mage from the others.

“ _What!_ \- Wait! Maybe you should- a _veteran_ mage?-” Elias's mouth ran like a nervous trickle of water, struggling in Dorian's grasp. Needing to stay in character and admittedly having a _little_ fun, he merely grunted in his best impression of Marcus. By the time they were far enough away to speak, Elias was so white he could only break into sympathetic laughter.

This earned him a punch in the arm.

“ _Dorian! Andraste's-flaming-tits!_ What are you doing?!” The helpless squeak of before evolved into shrill annoyance.

“ _Ow!_ ” He fought to stop the hysterics. “I'm doing what I'm told, _actually_! Lavellan requested my presence, believe it or not!”

Elias digested this as slowly as Dorian had- and with more visible disbelief.

“He can _do_ that?”

“I asked the same thing.” He answered while mentally brushing off wounded pride- was it _really_ unthinkable the elf might see worth in him? “It goes without saying, this is a mission of stealth.”

Doubt was blatant over Elias' features but he followed without complaint. Together they stalked off into the sparse brush, leaving the sounds of construction and shouts behind. Not too far away was Evallan, sombre and patient but likely containing a blizzard. The sight of him filled Dorian with elation, unable to help the informal greeting as he chirped.

"Evallan!”

He turned with a serious expression.

“You were told not to speak.” It was said so coldly, Dorian had to chuckle.

“Do you _really_ think I'll be recognised by my voice so easily?”

“No,” The reply was prompt. “You will be recognised because you are a bad liar.”

All this while Elias stood a pace behind Dorian, hiding partially behind his friend and partially behind the staff he fidgeted with. He broke his silence with hesitation.

“Sir?- What's happening here?”

Lavellan blinked at Elias as if just noticing him, then at Dorian.

“You told him.” He accused lightly.

“You looked at me like I should pick someone I trust.” Though he couldn't be faulted for not translating every facet of someone's expression, he still felt disappointed in himself. Evallan appeared to sense his dismay, brushing off the misunderstanding in a few words.

“It did not mean to trust immediately, but it matters not.” His cool gaze turned to Elias, who shrank. Dorian had to confess he was savouring this a little- Elias could joke however he wished but under the Keeper's icy scrutinisation, he blustered like any fresh recruit.

“You are Elias Caladrius, from Tevinter.” Evallan surmised after a time.

“Yes, Lavellan!” He was eager to confirm.

“You know how to cast a fire enchantment?”

“Of course!” He was just as eager in this. “Better than most- I'd say.”

“If we encounter the enemy, you will cast fire on all our weapons except mine and Dorian's- can you do so?”

“Not a problem!” Shock wearing off and orders given, Elias practically vibrated.

It had been what Dorian assumed- his weapon would identify him as well as his voice. Evallan sought to conceal him. It was also known that Evallan was disciplined against fire- if everyone's swords were ablaze with no visible mage present Dorian would again be given away. None of this surprised him- until the final order.

“And you,” Directed at Dorian. “Will not cast at all.”

He thought he'd misheard.

“Nothing? _At all?_ ”

“You will use your sword.” He inclined his chin to the mostly-obscured hilt behind the borrowed cloak.

“You trust in my skill that much?” He blurted and Elias seemed to echo the sentiment from his perplexed study of the pair.

The elf did not mirror their concerns. Head motioned like a curious bird, brow perked.

“And I should not?” He said it so simply, as if it was so simple to trust Dorian. As if it was _foolish_ no one did! He searched his face desperately, looking for even a hint of apprehension, all he saw was a confidence as unwavering as an iceberg.

“If you're sure, then.” The nod he gave must have been uncertain but Evallan accepted. Saying nothing more, he skulked further from the camp and the two followed.

While they walked he made great effort to be alert but his mind reeled- filled with images of his bouts with Evallan. All those instances the elf came at him with the ferocity of a wolf-pack, chasing him around the grounds. Dorian thought he was bored- that going easy on him was tedious- but maybe it hadn't been? Maybe he'd _actually_ been keeping up?

“Signal.” Evallan's voice cut through his thoughts, a burst of flame setting the clouds aglow. “Remember your instruction.”

With that the trio manoeuvred rapidly over the harsh ground and between the occasional grouping of dead trees. Soon enough yells and the clatter of steel indicated trouble. Evallan was the first to charge, not seeming to take stock of anything as Lightbringer hummed to life.

Dorian and Elias were more cautious- Elias lingered on the fringes but followed orders, a few muttered incantations gifting flame to every counted ally. Dorian would not be accused of loitering- but unlike Evallan he did not have a celestial blade to dazzle enemies- he had to assess.

Two scouts had found themselves set upon by a small group of Darkspawn- thankfully lacking a commander, as far as Dorian could tell. Their twisted forms slashed mindlessly towards the pair- the sunburst cloak of one already painted red and they were tumbling head-over-heels to evade further injury. The other was doing better but was overwhelmed in trying to herd the creatures away from their comrade.

Evallan felled one, surveyed the madness and placed himself between the crippled recruit and the accosting Darkspawn. The savage whirlwind of light Dorian had competed against for weeks now severed through any beast foolish enough to set upon its wielder.

It was clear to Dorian the other scout needed help far more than the Keeper. Yet when his eyes pinned the cluster of bestial targets his blood froze, feet rooted to the ground.

_You flirt with swordplay like you flirt with Lavellan!_

_Neither of it goes anywhere._

If it were not for the warm glow of Lightbringer invigorating him, he probably would never have moved.

But he did.

The crude hilt gushed embers as he freed it from its belt and launched into the fray, repeating countless lessons in his head. None felt relevant now he was in arms reach of something terrible he actually intended to hit.

He heard nothing and saw only gnashing teeth. Muscle memory guided him like a puppeteer.

The first swipe of the magical blade shocked him. He didn't know what he expected from the sensation- he'd never really considered it! The squelch was grotesque enough but Darkspawn flesh seared with the most vile stench- the bile that gushed from the wound reeked even worse!

Adrenaline fought with the instinct to shy away- doing so for even a moment could mean death. Beside him, the scout was able to recover balance and fend off another.

“Thank the Maker! Just in time!” They almost wept their gratitude and Dorian barely caught himself from replying.

Everything flew by in a violent blur. Lightbringer appeared at his side, sweeping away two more assailants, its blade seeming to extend though truly Dorian couldn't tell if it was a trick of the shadows. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied Elias and the injured recruit bubbled in protective magic- Elias likely attempting to heal them. Setting upon the remaining Darkspawn, he felt almost invincible with the Keeper and his bound weapon leading the assault.

When the last had fallen and all stood gathering their wits, Evallan directed towards the healthy scout.

“Return your comrade to camp, we will search for more and ensure the safety of the others.”

"Don't have to tell me twice, Lavellan!”

Dorian was bent over, still clutching his sword for dear life, gasping air to fight the nausea that came in force now that adrenaline had settled. Through the slur of his thoughts he heard Evallan.

“You both did well.”

Words so few and simple but when he straightened to meet the elf's gaze he saw it shining in approval- directly at him. His heart stuck in his throat- he'd never seen Evallan look at anyone that way and had never been looked at in such a manner. With such an intense sense of --

_Pride._

_He's actually proud of me!_

“I had a good teacher!” He stumbled over speech with a bashful grin.

“No,” Evallan's mouth twitched. “You are perceptive and decisive, two things that are necessary in close combat.”

Elias skulked towards them, fidgeting with his staff in a way that suggested he felt intrusive. Though he said nothing his manner was enough to embarrass Dorian, trying to divert the atmosphere.

“What now?”

“I have a suspicion,” Evallan walked as he relayed. “They were separated from their alpha. We must track it before it gathers others and becomes a nuisance.”

“Certainly how I wanted to spend my evening after a days walk.” Dorian remarked sarcastically, receiving a chuckle from Elias and no reprimand from Evallan- he stalked onward. The pair followed.

“I didn't even know I'd be here, how do you think _I_ feel?” Elias snorted.

“Don't pretend you're not loving this,” Dorian countered “This is exactly the kind of absurd scenario you'd dream up!”

“You're right, but- no offence, Dorian- my daydreams don't usually have you two in them.” Elias joked and Dorian snapped back;

“ _Usually?_ ”

“ _Stop._ ” It was only when Dorian raised his head he saw Evallan wasn't scolding them but referring to an enormous shadow higher up.

“ _Kaffas_ , that's a big one!” He blurted and wished he hadn't. If it was unsure of their nature or position before, it definitely wasn't now- heaving motions inched it closer to the group, a gigantic cleaver aimed overhead. Evallan was bracing, leaning to meet the creature's stride...

A light sound cut through the air. If pressed, Dorian would describe it as a ' _thwp'_.

Their leader stilled, as did the Darkpsawn Alpha. There was another slice but this time Dorian caught its source- an arrowhead poking through the monster's throat. It gurgled, tilted. Evallan straightened, his manner curious but unperturbed as a final strike compounded the last.

The towering thing crumbled into the slope.

“Identify yourself.” The elf demanded frostily, fingers still tight around Lightbringer.

“ _Who's that barking orders at me?!”_ A red-haired head emerged from the brush where the Darkspawn had stood, voice booming and cheerful. “You know who you're talking to, buddy?! 'Sides from the person who saved your sorry hide!”

“ _Fletch!”_ The recognition and warmth were undeniable. Having never heard Evallan address anyone in such a tone, Dorian was intrigued. A short figure ambled towards them- a Dwarven woman, in the blue and grey of the Wardens, a bow slung over her shoulder.

“That's what I thought! _Lavellan,_ you big girl!” Her arms were outspread excitably but they closed to grab the elf's hand in both of hers, beaming. Dorian was surprised he allowed it, but from the little emotion displayed it was clear the two were friendly.

“How good to see you sober.” The Keeper offered tepidly as they released each other.

“Sober as I get, anyway!” Attention shifting, she perused Dorian and Elias. “And who're these tall drinks of water you've got babysitting you?”

He glanced at Evallan and seeing the confirmation in his eyes, grinned broadly while sticking his hand out to the dwarf known as Fletch.

“Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Dorian Pavus, huh?” She snorted. “You taking care of my _girlfriend_ , Dorian Pavus?”

Evallan only rolled his eyes while Dorian played along.

“As best I can- I'm afraid he's turned into a man!”

“We can only hope!” She chuckled and shot a look at Elias, who was swift to oblige.

“Elias Caladrius!” Shaking her hand as he remarked. “Marcus said we should be looking out for Wardens, that must have been you.”

“Sure is. Bringing reinforcements from some of the other towers, just in case you layabouts can't handle it.” She winked to punctuate the humour but Dorian could tell from the firming of his jaw that it stung Elias's pride. Near him however, he noticed Evallan's face stiffen too. Following his sight, Dorian spied a group descending for them. A typical mingling of Wardens and Circle Mages, accompanied by the remaining scouts- he didn't understand what had stressed the Keeper until his voice thundered.

“ _Villyen!”_

“Uh oh...” Fletch snickered and lifted her hands as if emptying them of responsibility. It didn't matter- Evallan wasn't interested in her. He marched to confront one of the figures and Dorian observed the dark hair, icy eyes and the ironbark circlet that had once been Evallan's. Indeed it was his last surviving blood-sibling.

“ _What are you doing here?”_ His voice bordered on horror.

“What does it look like?” His brother rebuffed. “Serving, like you...”

The Keeper snapped something in his native tongue.

“But I _wanted_ to-” Villyen stated, not in Dalish. “I _asked!”_

Evallan stood motionless, a ferocity in his eyes as they squared on Villyen's, who in turn stuck out a lip and clung to his staff, defiant.

In a flurry of robes the elf headed for camp and Dorian set upon his heels, admittedly in something of a panic. That hailstorm always contained by those eyes had gone wild and how it was about to manifest, no one could know. His unrestrained pace was hard to keep up with- and Dorian with barely any experience on harsh terrain. Not wanting to speak openly as they neared others, he attempted to whistle for Evallan's attention but soon gave up- he was unswayed.

Campfires and torches dotted the area now, people were still constructing tents, and Evallan's target became as clear as the shout that cracked through the bustle.

“ _Marcus!”_

The Templar only managed a half-turn before a pair of frenzied hands wrenched his cloak.

“ _The fuck?!”_ Marcus spat as he jerked to face his assailant. Dorian's heart caught in his throat, remembering how the warrior had batted the elf around like a cat with a mouse. How aggressive would he become if he _truly_ intended injury?

Knowing he had to intervene, he rushed forward, head bowed, hood shielding his features. Hands gripped Evallan's shoulders, seeking to pin and hoping desperately to the Maker he looked surly while doing it. It was not a complete success- the Keeper was still fighting with the clasps on the Templar's cloak as his voice lashed.

“ _Why-is-he-here?!”_

“Don't fucking handle me, Lavellan!” A combined shove of his arm and a yank from Dorian disentangled the two. Managing to pull Evallan back a few paces, he held firm, as much to subdue him as his own shaking hands.

“What are you yelling about?!” Marcus bellowed.

“Villyen should not have to serve!” Neither yielded to the other, fire practically erupted between them. “ _You_ approved the register for this mission!”

“He's been requesting it for months!”

“ _And you approved it!”_ He lunged again and the only way Dorian could halt him was to cinch his arms around the elf's waist, torso weighted against back. At least now he could obscure his face against Evallan's shoulder, a small comfort.

“And why wouldn't I?!” Marcus threw his hand out in a flippant gesture. “You Dalish are the only mages the Chantry aren't fighting to keep!”

“We should not both have to fight!” He trembled in Dorian's grasp but blessed be Andraste, did not struggle again.

“Plenty of brothers are fighting and fucking dying together, Lavellan! You're the only one who gives a shit about your clan!” The Templar punctuated his speech with a glob of spit upon the ground, then stomped away to continue orchestrating the chaos around him.

Dorian was left clinging to a form so racked by tremors he feared it would shatter in his arms. A long moment passed before Evallan thought to pull away, staring into nothing with hollow eyes.

“Evallan?” Dorian hazarded, gentle. “Maybe you should-”

“ _Do not speak!”_ He hissed, a brief flash of furious tears before hands swept them away. “I-I must...”

Dorian hoped that thought ended with _'speak to my brother'_ , as that was certainly what he was about to suggest. By now the group had caught up with them and Villyen stood uncertainly on the fringes, looking across at his Eldest. With a steadying breathe, Evallan walked in that direction. The others were assimilating into the camp but Dorian paid no mind to Elias or Fletch. Instead he watched with a growing chill as the brothers slunk away.

“Looks like your date ditched you.”

“Oh, I didn't see you down there.” Dorian commented without looking. He had noticed her, of course, but did not remove his eyes from that spot within their circle of light where Evallan last stood.

_I'm always so afraid for you. Why is that?_

_If anyone can handle all this, it would be you._

“Hardy-har-har! Humans are so funny- _and so very tall!_ ” She mocked and elbowed his side. “C'mon, funny boy, have a drink with us.”

“Didn't you hear?” His focus unbroken. “I'm not to speak.”

“Did I say _'speak'_ or did I say _'drink'_? C'mon, funny boy!” She left no more room for argument, grabbing his arm and jostling as she bounded away. He went along, deciding it helped no one for him to wait like an abandoned mabari.

Fletch appeared quite well known amongst all parties- Templars, Wardens and Circle Mages- at least by anyone who'd ever served. She led him in a haphazard ramble throughout the camp, stopping to jeer, offer comments or swipe a bottle from an unsuspecting old friend. All the while, Dorian was mute as he sipped whatever atrocity was offered. To himself he was intrigued- Fletch couldn't be more of Evallan's opposite, yet she was the only person Dorian had met who he could confidently say was a companion to the elf.

“Hey there, old timer!” Eventually Fletch settled on a campfire where an elderly Warden sat bent over a bottle. In the dirt at his feet was a crooked, worn staff and his attire was a clashing mix of plate and robe, signifying to Dorian he was a mage.

He grunted as they approached, not bothering to look. Closer now, Dorian could see the man's face was badly scarred, with one eye puckered shut.

“This is Grimm, he doesn't talk much. Grimm, meet Ol' Lance.” Fletch introduced in her cheery fashion and plopped herself down. The bottle in _'Ol' Lance's'_ hand wasn't the only one scattered over the little camp, Fletch grabbed another.

Dorian meant to follow that example but was scolded by a grizzled voice;

“Templars don't drink for free.” Ol' Lance directed, examining Dorian harshly. He had to suppress his amusement- of course, the cloak! But taking it off wasn't wise either, was it?

“Hey Lance, settle down!” Fletch intervened, upbeat. “This is a friend of Lavellan's! Not some Templar runt who'll get tipsy and sing the Chant at you!”

“Which Lavellan?” The aged Warden continued to eye him.

“Which one d'you think, you old coot?!” She chortled, shoving a bottle into Dorian's hands. Lance said nothing, so he tentatively uncapped while the two settled it between them.

“ _That_ Lavellan doesn't have friends.”

 _You noticed that too,_ he choked back his mirth.

“ _You're_ one to talk! Ain't all your friends dead?”

He choked again- this time because the toxic liquid flooding his mouth was truly revolting. They ignored him as he fought with whatever bitter fire had been given, adamant that he would drink.

“One day all your friends'll be dead too, _including_ me, then where'd you be left?”

“Not likely!” She took a swig of her own bottle and patted Dorian helpfully on the back. “I'm just gonna die before everyone else- bet you never thought of that, huh?”

 _Maker, what_ are _they talking about?_

He found himself reflecting that the Wardens really spoke of the most absurd things. Perhaps it was just the swaying motion rapidly gaining momentum in his skull. Compelled to lay back on the soft earth, he shut his eyes and tried to will away the spinning of firelight against his lids.

The last thing he heard was Ol' Lance chiding that most of the Templar recruits could _'hold their drink better than this.'_

\--

The _first_ thing he heard was;

“You gave him alcohol.” His characteristic iciness was doubly strained.

“You say that like he's not a grown man, Lavellan.” Fletch slurred back.

The retort was an explosion of glass followed by an explosion of words.

“He is used to the drink at the tower! The wine _they water down!_ Not Dwarven ales and whatever other poison _actually works on your blighted lot!_ ”

More shatters of glass but the loudest- and most headache-inducing- sound was the hysterical uproar from the Wardens, clearly unbothered by the Keeper's tantrum. Fletch's voice fought to pipe above the chorus.

“Yeah! Yeah, I can see that...I can definitely see that now you mention it!”

“ _For the love of Andraste, Lavellan_!” Someone unidentifiable appealed between cackles.

This time Evallan only rambled to himself in Dalish. Another bottle was discarded ruthlessly to more hysterical cries of _'for the love of Mythal, then!' or 'Mercy, Lavellan!'_ before his shadow approached Dorian. At this point it dimly occurred to him this was in fact not a dream- he began to stir.

Arms slid around his waist to hoist him upwards, he settled into the elf's side and muttered blearily.

“Evallan?”

“Look at him!” Fletch spluttered. “He's so drunk he can't say your name right! It's Lav-ell-an! Y'hear me, funny boy?”

He smirked against Evallan's shoulder while his saviour merely sighed at the dwarf.

A cautious pace half-carried him from the rabble, their noise soon absorbed by dancing shadows. Almost the entire camp was dead to the night- a few torches flared and sentries passed them or walked the perimeter. The weathered stone sentinel they'd built around was frightening in its luminosity, beseeching Dorian's eyes to seek out the moon.

_The sky is so big._

He was paralysed. Staring upwards, without a single brick or wall in sight and at such a peak, he could count more stars and colours than he remembered possible. Had it always been so vibrant and full of dimension? So many layers of blue and purple, such an endless netting of light? The moon glowed with an intensity that to him it rivalled the sun.

“Dorian?” Evallan nudged but allowed the pause.

“I think,” He struggled with speech. “I think...I know how dwarves feel, in a way.”

“The sky?”

“You really can't see much of anything from the tower, can you?” He mused, still lost.

Evallan permitted this for a moment but nudged again, pointing northwards.

“The horizon there, though you can hardly see it from Ferelden.”

He squinted and vaguely beheld a toxic green mist, lingering far in the distance.

“Tevinter,” Dorian surmised, thinking aloud. “A sobering perspective.”

“I thought it might be.”

Tearing his eyes away to look at Evallan he caught the mildest of sad smiles.

A vicious memory emerged- the Keeper deliriously slumped against him, pulling him into a close approximation of a kiss. They were in quite a similar situation now. If Dorian lost restraint for a moment just as brief- he could hardly be admonished too badly, could he?

His face flushed and he must have looked quite stupid and aimless because soon Evallan was guiding him along once more. He did not resist but his thoughts sprang around anxiously. He replayed the night of Evallan's Harrowing, dissected it, dissected the moment they were in now and himself within it...

Somewhere in this drunken maze he reached a conclusion.

“Evallan.” He mumbled, looking across at the serious-faced Keeper- he was intent on something and not listening to Dorian.

“Evallan!” He insisted, tugging at the elf's robes. This stilled him, though his brow was firm.

“We're the same, aren't we? That's why you asked me along, that's why you put up with me hanging off you all the time. In fact...it's probably also why I annoy you.”

The frown deepened but Dorian didn't have a sense he was confused- he looked pensive, if irate.

“But I'm right, aren't I?” He grinned toothily and gave Evallan's robes another childish pull. Fingers closed around the offending hand, eyes meeting his with only a glimmer of apprehension.

“Yes, Dorian. We are the same.” He confessed and made an effort to cajole the other mage back into motion. Dorian obeyed good-naturedly.

“I knew it! No one would believe me if I told them, you know.”

“I doubt you will remember.” Evallan pointed out with a touch of bemusement.

He was finally placed on the ground after a short stumble over an incline. He sat for some time, head pounding, while Evallan busied himself with the finishing touches on a shelter. Noticing Dorian's absence must have waylaid him, he thought while stretching on the ground. Discovering a flask of water thoughtfully placed nearby, he gulped and tried to regain his senses.

Already the last few hours were becoming an incoherent blur but as he examined his surroundings it occurred to him they were quite segregated from the camp. Evallan had placed himself on a ridge overlooking the mess of tents. Having located the one tree not suffocated by Blight, that was where he chose to rest.

Or perhaps Dorian was overthinking it, and Evallan had barely noticed the tree.

“Do you always wander off on your own?” He glanced over his shoulder where the elf was fastening something to a branch.

“I prefer it, when possible.”

“I'm surprised Marcus doesn't have you leashed outside his tent.” He would have regretted the clumsiness of his jest if Evallan hadn't issued an almost-laugh.

“He might still, if he finds something that may hold me.”

Work completed, he strode towards Dorian with an offered hand.

“You will need rest.”

“I'm sorry I'm so drunk.” He tried to hold back giggles while supporting himself on the other mage.

“Fletch knew better. It was a cruel joke.”

“Was the joke on you, or on me?” He wondered, climbing into the pile of blankets pointed out to him. It was probably worse than the apprentice bunks he'd once slept in, but he was so inebriated he doubted it would matter- though he did miss his usual furs.

Their shelter had just enough space for two people with a healthy gap between their bedding and Evallan crawled into his, using his travel pack as a pillow.

“That is a good question.” He commented lazily, eyes shutting.

Not wanting to be a nuisance, Dorian tried in earnest to follow suit.

It didn't take long for something disruptive to become apparent- a constant prickle of cold to one side, easily penetrating the layers he attempted to huddle in. The source was obvious- if it had originated any other direction, he would have dismissed it.

“You _really_ live with that aura all the time, don't you?”

“It is not a simple thing to deactivate.” He mumbled.

“I can appreciate that, Evallan, but the tent is rather cold.”

There was deafening silence as the Keeper appeared to consider something. After a shuffle of movement both bedding and person slid next to him so they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. The body alongside him emanated normal, living heat, exactly as it should. This led to a conclusion that though ridiculous, annoyed Dorian with it's simplicity- how had he not realised?

“You have a personal bubble!”

“I told you,” The elf mumbled again. “It emanates _around_ me, not _from_ me.”

“When you told me that,” He went on, enthused. “I thought we'd encountered a language barrier, or something. I always wondered- _how on earth is he not cold?_ But you haven't sealed yourself in it, you project it away from you!”

Evallan's face turned towards him, he could just make out the bright slivers of his eyes- there wasn't much to reflect in here.

“Tell me, does that take _more_ or _less_ energy than simply casting an aura on yourself? Or is it from Lightbringer, so it's already being cast from outside?”

“Go to sleep, Dorian.” He said it softly, lids closing.

\--

A familiar sound disrupted him a second time. He must have been asleep- what? An hour or two?

Incoherent Dalish, though much less fevered than last Dorian had heard. He rubbed the incoming hangover from his eyes and angled to look at Evallan, who had a hand over his face and was deep in argument with himself but was certainly unconscious.

He didn't appear in too much distress and wasn't sickly- merely speaking to himself. Such behaviour wasn't unheard of among survivors of war and Dorian was reluctant to wake him- he'd been insistent on going to sleep, he had to be drained from the confrontation with his brother.

More importantly- would it be kinder to wake him if the nightmare was something that would simply repeat itself?

As he battled over this Evallan abruptly sat up, silent, eyes still sealed. It jarred him but after almost throwing himself into the tent canvas he had the mind to ask.

“Are you awake?”

Eyes flickered open, pulsating with such light he jerked backwards and was thankful his shoulder met the tree trunk their shelter was mostly supported against. Anything else and the structure might have crumpled on top of them- but why in _Andraste's name_ were his eyes doing _that?_ The tent was secure- there was no light to absorb!

Before he could think to speak, there was another litany of Dalish, clearly agitated now. Deciding enough was enough, he leaned forward and grabbed the elf's hand.

“ _Evallan!_ You're dreaming!”

He quietened. Head craning around, his eyes flit emptily at Dorian until their glow extinguished.

“Are you...?” He struggled to speak and found no reason to continue- the Keeper fell into his bedding, not a sign of awareness.

 _I suppose you don't bind yourself to an ancient spirit without some of...whatever_ that _was._

Attempting to settle again, he remained clutching Evallan's hand.

 _I'll just hold on,_ he decided in half asleep, drunk madness, _so he remembers where he is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try not to choke on the sheer amount of gay tropes in the next few chapters. I swear half of them weren't intended but I'm also not sorry.
> 
> Also lol there's a quote from The Office in this chapter and if you know what it is you get a cookie.
> 
> Anyway here's Sunlight by Hozier  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PELeEo33JXs


	6. Heart of Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 2.5) Evallan juggles his inner turmoil, life at the tower, and the repercussions of his Harrowing.

_My hands hurt. I want to stop._

Watery-eyed, Evallan dropped his aching digits to marvel witlessly at his labour. Inscribed into the icy spire with as much precision as bare fingers could muster were rows and rows of indiscernible text, sometimes split apart by complex diagrams and runes. Reaching out for something, attempting to communicate. He could not comprehend- even the language read as foreign to him.

_Too ancient for you to know. Too ancient for any living thing to know._

The last few lines floated in broken pieces, crimson pooled into the unfinished dents and stained the crystal surface.

 _I want to stop_ , he repeated wearily though to who, he was unsure. _It hurts._

_We cannot stop. We must continue._

_But I do not understand it. I do not understand what I am meant to do._

_It does not matter. We must continue._

He laid his wounded fingers along the cold slab as if the cause of his pain could somehow quell it. The voice spoke truthfully, he knew. He had known since he was a child. Since Lightbringer- perhaps even before.

_You cannot stop. We must continue._

_But it hurts._

“You are writing in your sleep again, brother!” A voice sprang from somewhere and though it was filled with warmth, the chill against his torso only deepened.

But with that voice came epiphany.

This was a dream. He was in the Fade again.

It had become an unintended habit since the Harrowing and an unnerving one at that. There was no desire in him to wander the Fade but a thread between himself and Lightbringer compelled it. And for what purpose? To transcribe something he couldn't even fathom.

“And you are _still_ not my brother.” He admonished the Spirit Amrallan while turning on his heel, the familiar surroundings of his dream blurring into place. The figment of the tower had been mostly destroyed in his Harrowing, only scattered fragments of the library remained. All of it encased in ice and much of that decorated by columns of mysterious script. A few were still visibly anointed with his blood.

“Will you remind me of this every time?” It whistled a sigh. “You should be thankful, brother! If I did not interrupt, Lightbringer would have you here all night and you would wake with fingers broken and the walls covered!” It chuckled heartily at that mental image.

“It is true that would not favour me,” He attempted to wipe his fingers on his robes. “I believe they already consider me an Abomination.”

“That is likely the case.” The spirit wandered the wintery alcove, inspecting columns. “Do you remember the last time you did this?”

He was almost offended at the tone- nostalgic, familiar. Exactly as his brother might have said it, should he have lived to see his sibling grown. Still he was thankful for the intervention, so he entertained it for now.

“When I was first bound. I would wake in the middle of the night and leave the aravel to write in the dirt-”

“More often the snow-”

“More often the snow.” He paused, basking in nostalgia. “It was always worse during winter. At first you would try to wake me, but you soon realised it was impossible.”

“Yes, yes!” The fake Amrallan rang giddily. “So I just kept you company. Then I realised if I held onto you, you would forget what you were doing and go back to sleep.”

“But it was not you who did those things. You simply remember them.” Though he smiled, even that was bitter. The spirit saw but dismissed, waving a hand while it beheld an engraving.

“You know, brother, it still makes no sense!” It must have known what to say to derail him.

“Not even to you, here in the Fade?” He couldn't suppress the grief in his voice.

“No, I fear not...” It straightened with a pensive smirk. “Though we can make assumptions....The last time this occurred, your bond with Lightbringer was strongest. Separation from clan and years at war have weakened that bond- summoning her during the Harrowing has strengthened it.”

Evallan peered at it sceptically and this prompted the Spirit to advise, something coy in it's tone.

“Fortunately you spend most of your time with a much learned man. I am sure his opinion would enlighten!”

“You speak of Dorian Pavus,” His shoulders stiffened. “I wish you would not.”

“It is hard not to, brother, when even in the Fade you have that.” It directed a finger towards Evallan's chest, where the Tevinter birthright lay exposed. “It is quite interesting that in the Fade, it appears over your clothes.”

“Is that interesting?” He ground out, impatient.

“It is even more interesting that you still wear it around him, even after he almost discovered it during one of your matches.”

“I leave it behind most times.” He rebuffed.

“But not all the time,” The Spirit sighed.

“I do not like leaving it with my things!” His voice almost whined but he fought to correct it. “If it is on my person, I know where it is, I know it is safe.”

“At this rate, he will discover it,” The fake Amrallan chided, but kindly. “I know that would humiliate you, brother. You must return it to him before then.”

“I...I do not know how!” He struggled even to speak of it out loud- even in a dream. “It almost would have been easier if I had fallen! Irving would at least have ensured the delivery!”

“You would rather have died than to face Dorian Pavus?” It laughed incredulously.

 _“Yes!”_ Evallan answered, firm in his despair. “Yes. Some days, it feels such a way.”

The last dream-image imprinted onto his mind was the imitation of his brother, smiling compassionately but with disappointed eyes.

 _I have never known you to be such a coward, Eldest Brother.  
  
  
_ \--

Banishing dream with flickering eyelids, it occurred to him he was on the floor of his chambers, shadowy night still clinging to the outside sky. He was pressed to the side of the desk and every appendage on his hands stung- but they weren't nearly so bad as in the Fade. The tips were scratched and pricked with splinters, thin streams of red encrusted his hands.

With head spinning he focused on the desk itself, thankful it was also not so damaged. What grooves he'd managed had no shape and the blood could be cleansed without issue. He would just have to cast a small spell on the wounds- by the time anyone was awake they would have healed.

He supposed he should be grateful to that Spirit of Compassion, obnoxious as it was.

He set to the task of righting the disruption and mopping up blood. The covers of his bed were in a tangle, a drawer half yanked from the dresser, random items scattered...and all with the occasional patch of frost he now had to dispel.

Dorian's amulet slid against his chest whenever he moved- he could not sleep without it. While he established order within his surroundings and set to caring for his minor injuries, his thoughts toiled over the birthright.

_I do not know what to tell you._

_I do not want you to hate me._

_It is the only part of you I can have._

_How can I say such a foolish, unkind thing?!_

_...Could you even understand it?_

He set to the tedious task of plucking splinters from his fingers and whispering a lazy incantation. Utilising his will- especially on himself-so early worsened the occasional assault on his balance but he preferred not to share the origin of these scrapes.

Even with tilting vision he couldn't stand to do nothing in his quarters. Soon he was clothed, amulet sealed beneath careful layers, and stepping out into the winding hall. He only strode a few paces before a tiny figure slunk from nowhere to slip an arm around his.

“Good morning, Eldest!”

Any alarm he might have felt melted, squeezing Fila's arm in greeting. The dream and its consequences were swept away as if by a kind breeze.

“Good morning, Fila.” Then, knitting his brow. “I hope you did not wake this early on my account.”

“I'm organising the stockroom today,” She explained cheerily. “So I thought I'd walk my most-honourable Keeper through the tower!”

He lolled his eyes at that but still bent to lay a kiss atop her head.

“Thank you, sister. You are like sunshine.”

Similarly rolling her eyes, she shoved him away, giggling.

“Shut up, Eldest!”

He laughed too- very quietly- and fell back into step while being mindful of his pace. She was taller than Fletch but still much shorter than him.

“Is the stockroom in such a state, then?” He asked for the sake of conversation.

“Ever since people moved over Irving's relics!” She groaned. “I swear, there's something in there enchanted to move things around!”

“Would you like me to take a look?” He offered, most dutiful. She shot him an impish glance and elbowed his ribs.

“Stop teasing me!”

“I could ask Lightbringer, she would not mind.” He had to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain the facade.

“You _are_ teasing me!” She gasped. _“I'm going to mess up your hair!”_

“ _What?”_ His lips broke into an unrestrained grin. “You cannot even reach!”

“ _You're so rude, Eldest!”_ With a playful shriek that was likely not appreciated by any slumbering nearby, she stuck her hands out towards his face. Of course he was correct- she could not extend enough and he lightly grabbed her wrists to coax them back.

“I am not the one messing hair!” He mock-gasped in return but his expression soon morphed to genuine seriousness- Fila's hands moved to hold his and pull them in front of her. As there was no true force in any of his motions, she did so easily.

“What's this? Why are your fingers scratched up?”

“Sparring, of course.” His answer was flat.

“This isn't from sparring! You have a splinter!”

He relented to her fussing with a weary sigh.

“It was a nightmare, Fila. It is a small thing.”

“Still,” She scolded softly, folding her hands over his. “You just put some silly little incantation on it and left it there, didn't you? You should have let someone look at it.”

A thrum of light seeped from between her fingers as magic blanketed the afflicted area, soothing with far more efficiency than Evallan had bothered to accomplish. Perhaps more than he _could_ accomplish- she had excelled in regenerative magic. A smart girl, to focus on such so she could give significant aid in the garden during a Blight.

“I am not going to wake you for a scratch.” He muttered.

“Well perhaps you should!” She sniffed, releasing his hand. Despite her scolding she still hooked her arm through his- though ensured he saw the derision in her pout. Looking away, he walked and tried to think of something to distract her.

“Titus is not with you.”

She eyed him knowingly- of course he was changing the subject- but allowed it.

“He's so lazy, Eldest!”

“Oh?” He almost snickered, mind wandering. “I think none of the Tevinter mages have seen a sunrise.”

“Dorian _is_ lazy too, isn't he!” She laughed and for a moment he froze- was it so obvious who he thought of?

“Yes,” He said rigidly. “I suppose he is.”

“At least he's getting better at swordplay! But you should make him wake earlier. I doubt he'd even mind.”

His lips pursed for a moment, wondering why all of a sudden they were speaking of Dorian Pavus.

“And why would I do that?” He inquired casually. “The laziness of shemlen is not for _me_ to correct, sister.”

She rolled her eyes at this, smacking his arm.

“You _are_ rude, Eldest! But I love you!” She stood on her toes with the intent to kiss his cheek and he leaned into it naturally, flashing a smile.

“I love you too, Fila.”

With that as their farewell they parted ways, her to her duties and himself to stretch his legs in the dawn until the kitchen opened. He'd be a familiar sight to the half-asleep cooks, who would quietly deal with contemptuous frowns shot at the meal delivered to him.

Afterwards he made for the sparring grounds where sunlight had begun to spill over the flattened dirt, lengthy shadows stretching from the roots of buildings. There he was met by an apprentice mail-runner, hastily shoving something into his hands.

Scanning the paper, he discovered it was a message from the Chantry on behalf of Marcus- or on behalf of Marcus from the Chantry, he really never could decipher the particulars of these things. Ether way, he was to report to the barracks immediately for new assignment. His performance on their next task would judge how stable he truly was.

“He could not have told me this himself?” He grumbled to the mail-runner, who already sought to run.

“I- I don't know...I just-”

“You just run.” Evallan sighed with a deep understanding. “It is fine.”

And so the boy did as his namesake implied.

\--

“Assignment.” Marcus muttered lazily when he saw Evallan, stabbing a finger towards the table where a collection of Templars sat in various states of consciousness. It was still early and no doubt Marcus had roused his usual crew to brief before anyone. They gathered on the upper level of the barracks where meals were typically had, the majority of recruits sleeping below.

He recognised some- but not by name. Though it had been a decade since he lived free, he still remembered the Templars in unfavourable terms. Even if he had a desire to befriend them it was understood his place in the Circle was temporary. At the end of all this- if there was an end- he would be an apostate. An apostate with the freedom to leave- but not necessarily to be left alone.

It was not an arrangement that encouraged friendliness from Evallan.

There was a page being passed around the group and acknowledged with grunts and yawns. When it finally reached the Keeper he had to will himself not to scowl- it was a diagram of their positions. Someone had doodled a pair of horns and a moustache to the faceless shape that represented himself- but there was something that irked him more.

“I am in the vanguard.”

“Yeah? Where else?” Marcus replied from a far wall where he was scowling over a pile of equipment.

“I am a mage?” He flapped the paper for emphasis, showing the mages far behind.

“Since when has that stopped you?” The Templar glared over his shoulder. “Thought you were all about defending from the front? The Harrowing put the fear of the Maker in you finally?”

“No.” He stated flatly, then continued. “But the mages from the tower and I could learn much from each other.”

“Lavellan,” The Templar exalted an enormous breathe as he straightened and turned to lecture. “I've seen you fight, remember? You charge in head on, use your sword more than you cast, and what you _do_ cast is more useful up front, with us.”

“By that criteria,” He critiqued at the paper. “Dorian Pavus should be in the vanguard with me.”

“Oh _that's_ what this is about!” Marcus immediately hooted, several of the half-asleep recruits made sounds of dismay. Admittedly he felt exposed. He hadn't meant to be so transparent but it was too late to shy away- he had to reinforce his statement.

“He has a weapon very similar to mine that he is quite skilled with. He has been training with it for weeks, and hardly using active magic in all that time. It is folly to ask him to return to a style of combat he is not actively practising in.”

“I've seen you _both_ fight, Lavellan.” Marcus snorted. “He can keep up with _you_ , on your _own._ That ain't a skill.”

Fury surged through him, fingers tightening around the diagrammed page but not ripping.

“He would be more useful at my side than these nug-brained Templars I am expected to babysit!”

“Fuck off, Lavellan!” The Commander kicked at the nearby equipment, a metallic shriek filled the area and one recruit almost wept at the sound. “You're going to have to live without your fairy princess for one day!”

This only made Evallan more defiant. Though he leashed his expression, it was a mask from which behind he frothed.

“Leaving him to throw projectiles is a waste. You are a fool to make this personal- but what else am I to expect of you but to act foolish?”

That did it. The Templar reeled, smashing his leg through more discarded gear and then his clenched gauntlet onto the table. Wood squealed and bent under the force but Evallan did not blink. Neither did Marcus.

The entire table however, staggered or leapt back- either from shock or wisdom. The Keeper and the Templar Commander were not two men any sane person wanted to be caught between.

“You're starting to piss me off, Lavellan.” Marcus was panting in anger, fierce eyes seeking to tear the elf apart with a look alone. _“Your 'Vint lapdog stays with the fuckin' mages!”_

Silence stretched between them as they glowered.

Evallan fractured it, dry;

“A fairy and a dog are two very different things.”

“ _That's enough!”_ Hoisting up a stray piece of armour from the floor, the large man tossed it with all his might. It was such a speed Evallan almost didn't move fast enough- it barely missed his head and bounced off the door-frame with a clatter.

Glaring and bristling, the elf hunkered into the corner. Brawling with the Templar would do nothing but cause trouble for himself, and words would do less. He gave the paper a last, sullen look and considered drawing flies over the Commander's head- but resisted the childish impulse.

_I know I am biased._

_I know I have an....attachment._

_But that does not mean I am wrong!_

\--

Once he escaped the tension of the barracks he sat on his usual bench near the sparring grounds and waited. There were things to do but most of the tower was only stirring. He could speak to Dorian Pavus once more before they were separately thrown to the wilderness.

Before he could appear a different mage from Tevinter approached him.

He spied Titus ambling over the grounds and assumed he was to wait for Fila in the garden- though it was unlike him not to do so right where she was. This didn't alarm him until the young man made for Evallan. There was scarcely any reason for the boy to seek him out at such an hour without his clan-sister.

_Something could not have happened to Dorian. You saw him just yesterday._

He berated himself while the Tevinter smiled shyly, stopping a respectful distance from Evallan.

“Keeper Lavellan? Could we talk?”

“Titus Ahriman,” He frowned at him, quizzical. “Is Dorian well?”

“He's fine!” He said promptly, sensing the concern. “I just wanted to talk to you- in private.”

This was bizarre and Evallan truly did not know what to make of it as he inclined his chin towards the young man.

“What troubles you, Titus Ahriman?”

The boy fumbled beneath his expectant stare then fumbled with his robes. From them he drew a lovingly crafted rune. He fiddled before offering it to the Keeper. Studying it while Titus blathered, he saw the rune was Dalish for _'Compassion'_ and had to stifle a laugh.

“Here- I- this- it's appropriate enough, isn't it? You know, I thought of something stronger, like Courage...but why give someone what they already have?”

In theory the wearer would inspire compassion in themselves and those around them. As an exchange it implied both a wish for compassion from the receiver, and towards the receiver from all else. Asides from the surreal coincidence, it was a personable, non-material gift to be carved on limited occasions.

For the millionth time over ten years he wished his mother were here- and still Keeper. If she were, it would be her responsibility to navigate this absurd occurrence with this well-meaning but ultimately misguided shem.

“Is there something you are about to ask of me, Titus Ahriman?” He willed patience from himself.

“I know this is probably silly...I know Fila would say I'm just embarrassing her...But I also know if I don't do this your way, none of you will ever take me seriously.”

“Most of them may still not take you seriously.” The Keeper interjected through a pang of guilt. Someone had to tell the young mage how it would be.

“Then they don't have to,” Titus was unswayed. “But I'm still going to ask and I'm still going to do it your way. So if you don't like me, it'll be because you don't like me, and not because I did this wrong.”

Evallan fell silent and looked at the Tevinter boy's determined face, waiting. Grimly-set features contorted in effort, a breathe issued.

“I'm pledging myself to Fila, and to Clan Lavellan. When the Bight is over and we all get to go home, I'll walk with you, with the Dalish.”

“And you realise this is unprecedented?”

“Everything we've been through is unprecedented. So what?” The boy dismissed simply.

“And you have nothing that binds you to Tevinter? No life you would be abandoning?” There was an edge of emotion to him now- it was disbelief.

“I'm not abandoning my life. My life is with Fila.” He was as adamant in this reply as all the others. The Keeper wrestled with the strangeness of it, trying to comprehend, thoughts scattered.

“Do you understand how difficult this would be? The others may never accept you. They may even see both of you as traitors to your people. They may question my authority for allowing such a thing.” He listed his thoughts but the Tevinter mage's conviction never weakened.

“Life is always difficult. That's just an excuse not to do something.” He stated with more maturity than Evallan had ever witnessed from him. “But she's my family, and life without her would be like nothing.”

The Keeper considered him for a long time before slipping the gift into his robes. A smile captured the other mage's features even though the elf was quick to add.

“If the time comes, you must think it over carefully. This is no small thing for you to do, and no small thing for me to permit.”

“I understand Eld- Keeper!” Titus bounced, smile evolving into a grin. “Wait- _Can_ I call you Eldest now?”

Evallan shifted uneasily.

“Perhaps one day, should you truly choose to walk with us.”

The Tevinter wasn't dissuaded, his face all bright teeth as he nodded.

“I will, Keeper. You'll see.”

Probably eager to inform his betrothed of how he'd just _'embarrassed'_ her, the young man scampered towards the tower. Evallan mulled over the exchange in exhaustion, convinced the impulsive boy would fulfil no such promise. Maddening him, his thoughts predictably gravitated to Dorian Pavus.

_Do not be foolish._

_He would not walk with you either._

\--

There were more pressing concerns than Titus Ahriman.

While in the tower with his own private quarters he had little fear someone would notice his Fade-walking. Out in the wild, most likely in a tent and with a chance of sharing with others there was no hope he could conceal such a thing.

Fortunately Dorian Pavus had already taught him how to utilise the presence of the amulet as an anchor. He simply had to hone this technique as much as possible over the days remaining. When the time came, he assured himself it would not be so strenuous- especially if he could slink away and construct his own shelter.

That morning began when he entered the barracks and Marcus thrust a cloak towards him- it would be his usual colour if it were not for the Chantry sun, stark red on white.

“I have my own cloak.” He gestured to the plain one hooked near the barracks door. “And I am not of the Chantry.”

“Don't fucking argue, Lavellan.” The Templar snapped, fists balling into the fabric. “You're coming along to prove you're not a blighted Abomination, the least you could do is be in _some_ kind of uniform.”

Neither had the patience for the other that morning. He yielded, pulling the blighted thing over his shoulders when he left.

He had not predicted it would be of actual use but certainly thought it appropriate as he disguised someone he treasured beneath something he loathed. If the only way to prove the Tevinter's value was by displaying it right under their noses, then so be it.

However nothing could distract from his shock when he witnessed Villyen geared for battle and carrying Amrallan's recovered staff. He was grateful for Dorian's presence there too- if he had not been, Marcus and he would have come to blows. Yet as always all he could do was lash out and distance himself from the Tevinter.

The shame of it pulled at his chest as he paced awkwardly on the outer edge of camp with Villyen. Both clueless on what to say to the other, both immersed in whatever events brought them to this moment of conflict.

“It does not look good for my First to defy the treaty I arranged with the Circle.” Evallan said finally, stubborn.

“It doesn't look good for you to have barely any contact with your First, then insist they sit in a tower while you run across Thedas killing Darkspawn.” Villyen sneered, just as stubborn.

They both stared coldly into the night.

“When I gave you that circlet, it was with the understanding that I required you to be the guard of our traditions, our living memory. If we both risk ourselves, what of the clan then?” The frost in his voice increased with every syllable, confident in his words.

“And what of the clan?” Villyen glanced sharply at his brother. “They don't take me seriously- all I do is sit in a tower and write, and record, and write, and record.”

“That is chiefly the role of a First.” He reprimanded with a huff.

“Not during a war, it shouldn't be! Not during a Blight!” Villyen scoffed. “No one takes _either_ of us seriously, brother...but if I fall, some will still follow you. If you fall,who will follow an overgrown child who doesn't remember battle?”

Evallan grit his teeth.

“And you have not seen enough? Our family has not suffered enough? What do they know of it?!” His volume began to rise.

“Everyone suffers! Why should they care? All they know is I wear a circlet I'm not fit for, and the man who calls himself our Keeper lives in service to the Chantry!” His mouth snapped shut the instant he said it but there was no retort from Evallan. Stunned, he stared wide-eyed, then peered into the darkness once more.

“ _You know_ that is not so.” He said it hopefully, quietly.

“ _I know,”_ Villyen echoed without hesitation. “But pushing even your First away can give that impression, even if you mean it well.”

After some respectful silence between them, Villyen added;

“And I don't want to sit in a tower and do nothing! You think I should excuse myself because I'm the First Lavellan, but I think that's why I should be here.”

There was nothing for it. He could not send him away. He was a man grown- to force him to return home like a child would be an unimaginable humiliation- that he intended to protect him mattered not. It would seem to the others that he thought him incapable. Or worse, that he preferred to work alongside the Chantry undisturbed.

“You will follow orders, you will take no risks, and you will listen to me if I give instruction.” He recited, face as authoritative as he could make it.

“I promise I won't disappoint you, brother!”

Villyen could promise all he wanted- his safety was Evallan's goal. As with many things, it was now out of his hands. He allowed his brother to return to the other mages.

The conversation burdened him as he swiped canvas and equipment from a wagon and stole away. Some time passed while he searched for a spot to set camp upon, deciding eventually on a ridge with a singular tree that appeared half-alive.

He'd brought enough canvas to teach Dorian how to structure his own tent but was immersed in thought- the Tevinter's absence only occurred hours later. He was so accustomed to the man simply appearing- whether requested or not- he did not think to seek him out.

But if there was no sign of Dorian, something must have gone awry.

\--

Alcohol was what had gone awry!- He should have predicted as much, having been foolish enough to leave the mage with Fletch!

Even if Dorian were sober it was too late to start another shelter- crushing his anxiety best he could, he was forced to expand his own to fit them both. This racked him within- as oddly endearing as the inebriated man was, he could only imagine how that would complicate things if he were to Fade-walk.

The technique he'd strived to perfect would suffice- it had to.

He fell asleep meditating upon the birthright concealed beneath his clothes, against his chest. He considered everything it signified to him as well as the object itself and found Dorian's presence at least useful. Guilt defined his bizarre affinity and he felt that no more powerfully than with the Tevinter.

_I did not mean to take it- but I did._

_I was too much of a coward to return it._

_It became the only way I would know you._

_Now you are here._

_And it feels so heavy._

He wrapped his consciousness around that weight like a fist.

\--

_We must continue._

A chorus of whispers ebbed into his mind- gentle, at first. Effortless to disregard. But the longer it took to rouse the more insistent they became, the more their words took shape.

_We must continue. We must continue. We must..._

Eyes slowly opening, this would usually be when he stumbled to find a surface to write upon. His torso jerked to lift but he found himself paralysed- something had him pinned. A circular weight, the object small but its mass incredible. Whatever it contained held him down as if a dragon crushed his ribs.

His wits came to him with a shock- Dorian's amulet. It chained him to his surroundings as he'd rehearsed- but he knew Lightbringer would not give up right away. As he had done previous times, he fought to communicate with the Spirit.

_We cannot. They will see, and they will hurt us both._

_We cannot stop. We must continue._

_No, you must listen!_ _If they see you possess me they will kill us both!_

His own agitation only seemed to agitate the Spirit in turn, repeating with more force.

_We cannot stop!_

_Can you not understand me?_ Even in his own head he whimpered. _Is our bond truly that hindered? If you seek to strengthen it...I understand! I want that also! But you cannot do this here!_

This seemed to cause her to pause but still Lightbringer clearly did not comprehend that Evallan only wished to suppress for their own survival. Possibly with how strange her chosen had behaved recently, she assumed the distress was based on childish whim. Not to mention she had suffered this routine for days- and lacking ability from either to communicate directly with the other...

_Of course you must be panicked._

_I am sorry, truly!_

_I would never seek to remove you from myself!_

_We are parts of each other. I have not abandoned my duties. I swear to you!_

_You are a part of me- you are a part of my family- I would never abandon you!_

_I would never do something so cruel- you must know! You must be able to see that!_

…

_Lightbringer?_

Willpower not of his own flooded his body and pushed at his limbs, his nerves, beckoning them to move. Tears gathered in his eyes as he had no choice but to fight back, honing all concentration onto the amulet. He fought to remember every detail- how it felt in his hands, how he'd retrieved it from the dust after hitting Dorian- the first time a link fell and he'd roamed the battlefield alone, sobbing. Finding it- finally finding it!- Weeping even harder as he shaved silverite from Lightbringer to mend the damage...

Mage and Spirit clashed in will and he realised in no time at all that Lightbringer's unsurprisingly dwarfed his.

He yelled but it was nothing coherent- he had no words left. He only knew that if she did not stop, it would compromise them in such a way he was unsure they would live through the repercussions.

His form was yanked into a sitting position by invisible hands. Around his neck the chain and birthright split into a million shards that dissolved when they touched air. He almost howled before hastily reminding himself it was a thought-form - the actual object hung around his neck in the physical realm, unscathed.

_Please please please, you have to listen!_

_You have to trust me!_

_If you wander around we could both be killed!_

_What reason would they have to honour any of their agreements then?!_

He thought he heard a voice but it could just as easily be a part of this wakeful dream.

Something wrapped around his hand.

Both he and Lightbringer jumped internally.

He barely made out Dorian's features through distorted vision. The concern was still unmistakeable, the fingers tight around Evallan's just as familiar- though he held them so briefly, so rarely.

Finally Lightbringer seemed to undergo some revelation. Noticing they were no longer alone- and in fact were on the road in some fashion again- she dispelled herself without delay. Evallan was certain he felt a glimmer of embarrassment from the Spirit, for having doubted her wielder's intent and reacting so childishly. Their temperaments had always been similar, so Evallan could not fault her.

_I am not angry- I understand!_

_Please. We must be careful._

He felt his back drop onto the bedding. Fingers were still curled around his hand and he wished he had the stamina to squeeze in return. All he could do was beseech the darkness as the world fell away.

_Thank you, thank you, thank you._

_Please do not let go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered making the summary for this chapter "Evallan deals with a lot of shit he doesn't want to deal with".
> 
> And our boys chapters are in actual sync for the first time. ;o;


	7. A Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 3) Dorian struggles with his growing affection while the expedition journeys through the Deep Roads.

A hand was absent from his grip when Dorian awoke but he didn't panic- Evallan rose early at the best of times. Out on the field, he was likely on his feet as soon as possible and the reasoning behind this was no longer a complete mystery.

Rolling over, he absently touched the bedding left in a crumple next to him. _Still warm._ No other sign of the Keeper, but he'd left recently. Dorian supposed it was fine to doze- it wasn't morning, not really- and Evallan would not allow him to oversleep.

Sun crowning the sky and the innards of the tent baking, he was miserable for more reason than one when he truly regained consciousness. His skull felt it had been trampled on and his throat sore from a lack of hydration. No carefree lounging this time, his body cried out for water and air- and food, if there was any to be had.

Outside the tent were the remnants of a campfire- and Evallan still absent. He couldn't recall either of them building it, so he supposed the elf had, then allowed it to extinguish while he was gone. Below the peak the Keeper situated them on, Dorian could see figures beginning to mill about- preparing food, strapping armour to themselves or seeking out specific supplies from carts and tents.

If he watched for long enough he'd probably spy Evallan- but the pressure in his brain increased the more he squinted. Looking away, he caught sight of a flask seemingly left for him by the tree. He snatched it and gulped water almost violently, not stopping until it was drained and the container discarded in the grass.

After last nights events and suffering a torturous headache, he needed to get his bearings. His weapon was still at his belt but his cloak had slipped- he retrieved it from the tent, hood cautiously adorned. Prepared to escape from the noise, he strolled further up the slope, wondering what he might see from higher up. The scenery didn't honestly concern him- he was attempting to fathom the events of last night.

He hadn't imagined them, he was certain- Evallan talking in his slumber, his eyes aglow, visibly channelling _something._ Lightbringer, it had to be. Though it was foolish for the elf not to prepare for the eventuality of sharing a space with someone else- then again, maybe he had tried?

This was what he pondered as he made his way back to the tent, head still complaining and mouth screaming for fluids. This time as he approached Evallan was visible, sitting comfortably against the tree. A small wooden tray of food balanced on his lap- mostly apple slices, preserved meat and some bread. He pointed lightly towards a similar tray near the dead fire, a new flask accompanying it.

“Andraste bless you, Evallan.” Dorian puffed wearily as he brought the container to his mouth. A second later he was spluttering- it tasted like he'd just bitten spindleweed!

“ _This isn't water!”_ He choked, teary-eyed.

“Hangover remedy.” Evallan didn't look from his food. “I am surprised last night did not teach you to smell a bottle before drinking.”

“Duly noted,” Coughing a few times, he sipped more gingerly, face puckering. “But you said it yourself- Fletch was playing a joke on me.”

“You must learn from it, nonetheless.” The Keeper popped another finely-cut piece of fruit into his mouth, response tepid. Dorian scoffed, though not seriously.

“ _Well then!_ I'll be sure to!”

Gathering the flask and tray he settled next to Evallan, back against tree, almost shoulder-to-shoulder as they'd been the previous night. This caused the elf to halt, hand still poised half-way to his lips with an apple slice, eyes questioning though his face was lax.

“You think I'm going to sit where you're casting cold, now I know where it stops?” Dorian chuckled openly, pressing his shoulder to Evallan's. “Does it _bother_ you, Keeper?”

After a moment of eyeing Dorian with an expression that was peculiar but calm, he shook his head.

Unable to prevent the triumphant smile, he lowered his face to his tray and spoke to distract from it.

“I don't know why I thought we'd be fed better on the road.”

“I brought you an apple.” The elf pointed. Dorian couldn't remember anyone packing apples- and they wouldn't be so efficiently portioned. Evallan had to have found and cut them himself. He wasn't sure why but it gratified him to think about.

“Thank you, Evallan!” His smile deepened “That's very kind.”

The Keeper bowed his head in acknowledgement, then busied himself with picking at food. Dorian was content to enjoy this peace for some time but eventually asked, tone non-threatening;

“Do you know you talk in your sleep?”

Evallan unleashed a long but quiet sigh, straightening his shoulders- but not in avoidance. He confessed, tone sombre.

“I am afraid I do more than that.”

“Oh?” Dorian sensed much was to be conveyed. Though it was a slow process- the elf studied him, a vague and rare aura of helplessness tainting his usual solemnity. But he came to a decision.

"I write, I speak to spirits, I even practise spells.”

“Is this....a recent phenomenon?”

The Keeper's head bent in something akin to embarrassment.

“It happened for some time when I was first bound to Lightbringer. Since I summoned her during the Harrowing, it has begun again.”

Dorian considered this, remembering what he could of their encounter.

“So she's...stretching, I'd say.”

“Yes.” He breathed out his next words almost harshly. “I must ask for your assistance....and your discretion.”

“You can't have anyone seeing you like that, I assume?” That part at least was not something Dorian needed to be told.

“They are already concerned. At the least, I would be subject to experimentation. I do not wish Lightbringer to suffer that indignity again.” He said it with conviction- desperate. Dorian knew he had to assist- however was required. He didn't hesitate to state as much.

"What do you need of me?”

He was examined for a time in that typical stillness he'd oddly begun to feel comforted by- almost forgetting what they were speaking of until Evallan's lips began to move, their corners grim.

“Lightbringer has no wish to be seen or cause disruption, but her awareness of the physical world and her actions within it are limited.” His features twitched, unexpected colour spotting the whiteness of his face. His hand angled up, opening and closing as if to grasp words that when they came, were forced out near inaudibly.

“She only realised it was not safe because...you...”

Dorian's heart stuttered beneath his ribs and his own cheeks flushed- a reaction that made him feel utterly childish. Struggling to deal with the information and his ridiculous emotion towards it, he blurted in typical, sly fashion.

“Are you asking me to hold your hand, Evallan?”

The elf's features blazed, brow furrowing- he made to pull himself up and away from Dorian and in response he clasped both hands over one of Evallan's and squeezed. As he did, he consoled warmly, rumbling with the occasional spike of mirth.

“I'm sorry- I'm sorry!- Look!” He tugged the captured fingers so Evallan was forced to relax against the tree, pressing digits firmly against knuckles and palms, smiling. “It's fine- neither of us will burst into flame. You don't even have to be unconscious.”

The limb usurped by his own was thin and greatly calloused- an intriguing contrast. He inspected one rough patch with a fingertip, then dipped to feel at a nick of scar tissue, unconscious to his own actions. Not assisted by the fact Evallan did not stop him, seeming to ignore it as he stared resolutely at Dorian- though crimson-faced.

For the second time in twenty-four hours he found himself urged to kiss that stern mouth- and he wasn't even drunk! Thankfully, Evallan's voice distracted from the impulse.

“I can entrust this to you, then? And you will keep it hidden?”

“You can trust me, don't worry-” He lured Evallan's hands close to his chest and held them there, winking. “ _I'll_ protect you.”

This was finally too humiliating for the Keeper, ripping away and curling as he muttered in disdain- features no less overheated.

“You do not have to phrase it in such a way.”

Now he admittedly underwent a flash of guilt- a flash, anyway. Evallan didn't seem to know what to do with Dorian's attention and Dorian for his part, was unsure what he even expected it would result in. People were often free with their affections in the tower- even if it had to be secretive, but this was clearly a part of Circle culture Evallan hadn't adapted to. He deigned to change the subject, dismissing the rest as a joke with his lazy manner.

“You want this secret, and you're asking me, not Villyen, so I assume...”

“I do not want him to know.” His head perked up from behind his knees. “Correct.”

“Wouldn't it be better if he did?” He frowned. “He'd be more acquainted with the...nuance, of the situation.”

“I do not want him to be afraid for me.”

“Or to see you afraid?” He didn't mean to ask so sharply- but it was difficult not to point out the elf's choice of phrasing.

Evallan hesitated, but still answered.

“Yes.”

Dorian couldn't fault him for that, really- and he appeared so meek in the cautious huddle he'd drawn himself into, he wanted to inspire confidence.

“Well, he won't hear anything from me, nor will anyone else. And I'll ensure you don't go wandering about in your sleep. You can trust me.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” He did seem encouraged- straightening somewhat, manner less strained.

Thinking to preoccupy with more talk, he inclined his head towards the Dwarven statue in the centre of camp.

“So we're really going into The Deep Roads?”

“You do not relish the idea?” Composure restored, Evallan finished his meal while they chatted. Dorian did the same though struggled to chew through the dried meat.

“This is probably a terrible time to mention it,” Partially untrue- he hoped it might soothe the elf's nerves if he shared a humiliating personal fact. “But I'm actually quite claustrophobic.”

Evallan considered that a moment.

“You are afraid of enclosed spaces, or spiders?”

“Spiders is arachnophobia,” He couldn't help smirking, though without cruelty. “I'm afraid of small spaces, yes. _Specifically_ of being crushed.”

“That is very specific.” There was a curious note to this statement and though- probably out of politeness- he did not really question, Dorian still explained.

“Other refugees came out of the Blight afraid of fire, or having nightmares of Darkspawn and Archdemons,” He chuckled ruefully. “Me? A roof fell on my head and I never quite recovered from the shock.”

“It is not that strange,” He sounded near-sympathetic. “You associate the event with a greater loss.”

“Well, either way!” He shrugged dramatically. “It might be a problem, so you know.”

There was an odd pause from the elf, not responding to Dorian but with a calculating gaze. Eventually the corner of his mouth gave off a spasm that Dorian knew signalled a restrained smile. Before he could wonder what the Keeper might be laughing at his voice broke the silence, battling to keep tone dry, hand extending.

“Would you like to hold my hand?”

A sincere joke not dripping in ice was rare from Evallan- Dorian was immediately tickled. It was lucky he didn't have food in his mouth, he'd have choked as he slouched back against the tree and laughed without restraint.

“ _Would you_ , Keeper? It seems only fair!” He blathered as he fought to contain himself.

“It may raise some suspicion if I am seen holding the hand of a Templar,” The corners of his mouth were really struggling to stay flat, Dorian noted. “However, The Deep Roads are for the most part quite spacious. If we explore the smaller side tunnels, you should trail behind so as not to be too enclosed.”

“Well I'll keep that in mind, if it becomes an issue.” Dorian tried his utmost to tear into another bit of meat.

They polished off their breakfast with sparse conversation and afterwards Dorian assisted Evallan in deconstructing their camp. Or to be more accurate, Evallan taught him how to dismantle the structure and attempted to inform him on how it would fit back together. Dorian did his best to process the information, out of depth as he was.

Though he had to admit, he didn't mind roughing it so far- but had no doubt that comfort would end where the Deep Roads began.

Everything packed, they descended to mesh with the other recruits once more. It was not so lazy now, there was a commotion as the last stragglers awoke. He trailed dutifully behind Evallan, mindful to not speak and with significant space between them. It appeared less that they walked together and more that the Keeper was supervised- Dorian imagined that wasn't unheard of since no one seemed intruded upon by his presence.

They were only in the camp long enough to stash their gear into a cart, then Evallan motioned for the wider slope the Dwarven sentinel indicated. Still keeping a slight distance, he shadowed the elf and only stopped upon spying two familiar faces.

“Waiting for us, were you?” Dorian greeted- he saw no one but Elias and Fletch, so he thought it safe. Evallan didn't scold him, hovering near the trio in silent confirmation.

“What, you think _this_ joker gets anything done without me?” Fletch snorted, chin pointing out the tall elf who merely angled a brow in return.

“ _And_ you'll need another mage still,” Elias straightened from the rock he leant upon. grinning. “Thought I'd wait for you here instead of being grabbed!”

“Thank you, Elias- you are indeed my most considerate friend!”

The newly assembled party climbed together but soon the elf and dwarf were ahead of the Tevinter pair, muttering between themselves. It didn't look entirely serious- Fletch still burst into jeers every few sentences, but Dorian had the impression the dialogue wasn't for him. Likely they had not seen each other for some time. Besides, he could spot others at the summit, so it was less conspicuous of him to keep in stride with Elias.

“Marcus thinks you've gone AWOL, you know.” Elias informed, clearly entertained by this. “Either that you've run off for a life of mediocre apostasy or that you high-tailed it back to the tower.”

“Does he? Ha!” A broad grin spread over his features. “Let him think it!”

“Meanwhile, let _you_ not think at all.” His tone was still friendly but the criticism wasn't lost on Dorian.

“Oh what trouble am I causing, really?” He rolled his shoulders. “I'm _meant_ to be here, anyway! I'm still helping, just not _precisely_ in the way that was implied.”

“Let's just hope the Circle sees it that way if it turns into a mess,” Elias sounded more serious now. “I know you're bored, Dorian, but we have a good streak of not annoying anyone. _Maybe_ don't end it?”

“Why so concerned all of a sudden?” He was mystified, twisting his face as he interrogated. “You're the _last_ person I'd think to complain at having a little adventure!”

His friend hesitated then, lines of apprehension ageing him by a few years. For once he didn't entirely resemble a clueless nug with straw stuck on its head.

“Well...It's just...” Mouth warping, he settled on words with a small motion towards Evallan's rigid back. “He's a little strange, isn't he?”

He couldn't squash the urge- Dorian had to laugh- a raucous sound that bounced between the mountain walls. It was loud and abrupt enough the subject of their conversation craned his head around and sought them out. He didn't look angry- startled, perhaps. Dorian restrained himself while dismissing Elias with a wave of his hand.

“I happen to _like_ that about him, you know.”

“ _Andraste have mercy!”_ Elias shook his head. “Of course you would!”

But Elias yielded for now. They regrouped without another mention of Evallan.

\--

“ _ARE YOU ALL PAYING ATTENTION!?”_ Marcus carried his booming voice easily over the mass of people- someone must have been fidgeting.

Fortunately it was not Dorian- he obscured himself among the Templar scouts and was visible to no one- except perhaps Evallan. The elf stood at attention with the soldiers closest to Marcus, all solidly waiting by a huge blockade of rubble, behind which supposedly lay a Deep Roads entrance.

Directly facing it of course were the Grey Wardens- led by Ol' Lance and Fletch. Dorian could better peruse their attire in the sunlight- and sober- Ol' Lance was obviously the one in command. His armour and robes were weathered by decades but adorned with insignias denoting a Commander of the Grey.

He was a little dismayed- it was one thing to make a fool of himself in front of the Wardens, it was another for the Ferelden Commander of the Grey to see you take a nap in the dirt. He consoled himself by deciding that Lance probably still thought him some runt Templar. Forcefully disregarding that, he searched for Elias- wondering if it was he who annoyed Marcus.

His friend made a point to not be far, which wasn't hard since the mages were bunched unceremoniously next to the archers, typically accompanied by scouts. The other mage was unbothered by the bellowing Marcus, so Dorian dismissed that worry and made himself attentive.

“You see this?!” The warrior knocked a fist against the stone-face. “This was brought down ten years ago, after the previous Commander of the Grey got himself fucking lost- when he should've been eliminating nests! Since he failed, these tunnels were sealed-

But what shit did that do, a decade later?! These fuckers are multiplying like Maker-damned rabbits! Now they're spilling out of every fucking crevice and pressing in on Orzammar- Orzammar falls, we might as well kiss our asses goodbye! Their Legion of the Dead's the only thing keeping you layabouts from living in a completely razed country, starving to bloody death!

Today you're all going to show your appreciation by going in there and bringing the fucking void down on these nug-humpers heads! The Legion are pushing them our way, and we're going to push back! We're going to cave in those sons-of-a-bitches so they have nowhere to run- that's what your magic's good for.” He paused to bob his head towards the mages.

“And if we have the fucking time and half of you aren't Darkspawn-fodder, we might even take out this blighted nest once and for all.”

Adding nothing else, he stepped aside and Fletch sprang forth, clambering up a few boulders so she could be seen by all. Her voice was definitely much bigger than she was.

“Hope you heard all that good and proper, layabouts! Commander Lance here's about to show you how we're going to be _'bringing the fucking void down on these nug-humpers heads'!_ And he doesn't repeat himself, so you better pay attention!”

She hopped down and the elderly Warden trudged forth with a few curses. His eyes swept over the area before he shouted.

“Mage volunteer! Someone who knows what they're doing.”

Dorian was unsurprised to witness Elias rush forth, hand raised, face as hardened as he could make it. After encountering Darkspawn hours prior he likely felt confident and it was of course not news his friend wished to impress the Wardens. The Warden Commander glanced and made a small noise that suggested he would suffice.

“Watch what I do.” Lance unleashed his staff from its holster along his back. Holding it with tip against the surface of stone, he loosely began to inscribe a complex but uniform-looking rune. The lines he drew cast off a soft glow as they were mapped. When he was done, he looked towards Elias.

“You see that?”

The younger mage nodded firmly. Satisfied with that response, Lance flattened palms and fingers against the bright etchings while he explained.

“This here's a rune of the earth, probably bastardised from the Dalish.” He snorted saliva and called out to the Keeper. “What d'you think, boy? Look Dalish to you?”

“It may have been.” Evallan replied, unperturbed. “It would require further study.”

Lance hacked up phlegm in a strangely thoughtful mannerism before continuing.

“Well, either way, this rune will connect you to any solid structure- give you a good look at it. Once it's mapped out in your head, you send in a charge and blow it as efficiently as you can. You want to be precise- you bring the whole bloody mountain on us, that won't be no good.”

The warrior-mage demonstrated- eyes shut in concentration until he removed his hand. Smashing it back towards the pattern, this time it was with knuckles full of magic. A pulse of will vibrated through the etchings and shook the foundation of the wall. Dorian braced for an explosion but it merely collapsed into itself with a cloud of dust- though it wasn't demolished completely, daylight poured into a sliver of darkness.

“Your turn, boy. Bring the whole thing down.” The Warden instructed Elias.

Self-assuredly but still with care, Elias did his best to mimic Ol' Lance's actions. He took a little longer than the Warden Commander, but the symbols were just as precisely drawn. When his hand met the stone, the blockage fell into itself with a tremendous creak- reminding Dorian more of a ship than a mountain. The obstruction almost seemed to disintegrate into itself, the billowing of sand much harsher and obscuring the area.

He had to bend his face into his hood and squint, hacking particles from his lungs while many others did the same. When it finally settled there was a chasm instead of a wall and Ol' Lance was appraising the effort absent-mindedly.

“Never done that before, boy? Was a good job. But you want to watch out up there,” He extended his staff to where a column had bent towards the entrance. “Too much force near the ceiling, could've brought the whole tunnel down. You do that too much inside, there'll be a problem. Always think about not caving yourself in, y'hear me?”

He was gesturing with his staff like a crotchety old farmer while he lectured Elias, who bobbed his head in earnest respect. His poor friend was still trapped in this exchange while Marcus and Fletch leaned towards the fresh entrance. Dorian couldn't hear anything from his position, but there must have been an indication of life.

“Lavellan,” Marcus dictated, though not as loudly as usual. “You've gotta be needing some exercise, right?”

That signalled something to the elf, who marched forward to stand with Marcus. For once, Dorian noted, the air between them was not a brewing storm.

“Ready to kick a wasps nest?” A rare, genuine grin slashed along the Templar's face.

“When am I not?” The Keeper unsheathed Lightbringer and shot Marcus a surprisingly amiable look. Even with so few words, there was a silent understanding between them that was almost shocking after everything Dorian had witnessed.

“Knew I let you keep your hands for a reason!” His grin broadened to an almost sickly degree as Marcus stepped aside but even this brash remark was only met with a feint smirk by Evallan. “Go show these _corrupted-fucking-nug-humping-blighters_ the light.”

“Exactly as you say, Commander.”

White robes plunged into darkness, as inaudible and single-minded as an spectre of death.

Dorian couldn't help the tingle of uncertainty in his chest and wrists- was it _really_ wise to send Evallan alone?

He barely completed that thought when he realised why it was not only wise, but necessary.

A dizzying glare flashed from the abyss, followed by an eruption of inhuman shrieks. Some of those shrieks weren't even from inside! Having been given no warning, anyone ignorant to this ability was shying away and exclaiming- Dorian was no different.

Above the various yells, the Wardens and most of the Templars were in hysterics; Fletch, Lance and Marcus among them- all who had known to shield their eyes.

“See, used to warn new recruits,” Ol' Lance slurred while chortling. “Found no one takes it serious till they've seen it themselves!”

“Didn't like that, did you?!” Marcus roared, still laughing. “So when you're ordered not to look- _you're not gonna bloody look,_ are you?!”

Dorian _certainly_ didn't see the necessity in _that!_ _He_ at least, would have respected the Keeper's implied power and saved his eyes the trouble! Rubbing his face and groaning, by the time the colourful spots dissipated and nausea settled, Wardens were leaping into the crevice after Evallan.

“Templars- with me!” Marcus ordered and Dorian straightened with some anxiety- _Maker,_ that meant _him!_ “Mages, hold till I say!”

At least it wasn't expected of him to be anywhere near the front- he allowed the rest to charge by, keeping his head lowered and pretending he still ailed from Lightbringer's flash. When all but the last scout had vanished, he pressed forward.

Darkness consumed but momentarily- the contrast between daylight and Deep Roads masked everything below from everything above. Emerging onto the stained rock he found his surroundings brightly lit, though the sources were hard to discern. They were like amber crystals built into the elaborately carved walls, still breath-taking after centuries of wear and disuse.

Another thing that surprised him was he did not emerge into violence- though the scene was jarring and magnificent nonetheless; perhaps two dozen Darkspawn were present but they stood as literal statues, trapped within a long, winding wall of frost. The height of it was staggering- long spires almost touched the peak of the cavern.

At the end of this trail stood Evallan, serenely dusting snow from his robes.

“Mages, down here!”

Dorian barely heard the shout from Marcus, perusing the stream of carnage with intrigue. He thought he knew the spell utilised in such an absurdly brutish fashion but before he could grasp the idea, Elias approached, muttering.

“Never seen someone Fade-Step like _that_.” His voice wavered between awe and terror.

“Me neither,” Dorian admitted, not hiding his impressed smile. “Maker, it's almost a little stupid of him, isn't it? There's easier ways to conjure a wall.”

However as he mused while observing the elf, calmly dispelling spires to allow others to sidle passed, it occurred to him that for Evallan, it probably had been the easier way. He fought up-front, hands usually occupied by a sword. An ability his foe couldn't interrupt, that he could cast as he moved, was likely vital to his technique.

Perhaps it also cost him less will, so it was practically second nature- the haphazard placement made it clear the intent was to ensnare as many as possible, with as few motions as could be required.

The group gathered once enough of the structure had been dismissed and Marcus wasted no time.

“Lavellan! Others?”

“A small force escaped deeper into the tunnel. An Emissary led them.”

This soured the Templar, lemon-faced as he took charge.

“We're leaving enough of us at the mountain camp to push these fuckers down if they think of coming back up- if you're here, you're getting the dirty work!” He banged on his armour for emphasis. “We're chasing that thing down to the next thaig. Either it'll fall back or fight- in both cases, we camp. Plant a flag down these blighters throats so they know we're coming for their arse!”

Another smash against his armour and he stalked further into the deep, loosely followed by the cluster of Wardens and soon, his own men. Dorian's pace was sluggish- he'd noted Evallan lingering by a spire and caught the hint. As he passed, the Keeper joined him. They meshed themselves between the Templars and mages, Elias staying close without falling out of position.

There was no sign of life as they progressed- only the whistle of wind and the incessant, sometimes maddening drip of water. The strangely deserted atmosphere was unsettling and Marcus seemed to agree.

“How far did it run, do you think?”

“I could not say,” Evallan answered, studiously focused on their surroundings. “But if it ran far, it was not for a good reason.”

“Oh it _definitely_ has a surprise for us!” Fletch offered from somewhere with the Wardens. “If we haven't run into it yet, it _high-tailed_ it!”

“ _And_ it knew exactly where it wanted to get.” Ol' Lance added with a tense cough “We reach the thaig without trouble, we'll have to hunker down. Get a lay of the land.”

“ _Fine.”_ Marcus spat, obviously impatient- but willing to follow the advice of the Wardens.

To the Templar's displeasure, events unfolded in such a way. Upon finding a shamble of an ancient hall riddled with destroyed statues, a few alcoves and several winding paths, there were only stragglers. The Wardens eliminated these minor threats effortlessly and wandered towards the widest slope before returning. Fletch shrugged.

“It went, alright. And Warden senses are telling us there's something _big_ down there.”

“Either one big Darkspawn, a lot of Darkspawn, or both.” Ol' Lance supplied with her.

Marcus' face contorted but he must have known it was best to commit to the Wardens plan.

“If we're staying here, we need Lavellan to block off the main road. Then we're collapsing these side passages. No Darkspawn fuckers are interrupting my lunch.”

Evallan went without needing to be told and Dorian accompanied him. By now he hardly worried- Marcus was distracted by their task and seemed to accept the Templar scouts taking it upon themselves to keep a closer eye on the mage. He did however keep his lips pursed until they were at the arc of the passage.

“Do you need any help?” Dorian mostly joked- after seeing how the unpredictable elf could utilise Fade-Step, he had little notion aid was required. The Keeper picked up on his tone, a mild asymmetry to his lips as he placed his hand on the rock.

“No.” He answered as the designs along his skin became vibrant- not all at once, it surged up the length of his body until the radiance possessed his eyes. Unblinking, unseeing and unmoving, cool air swirled around him and targeted the elf's hand. An unnatural crunch of growing ice filled the passage, starting as a small patch that sought to consume the wall and inch to the opposite side.

Dorian had to confess the unreal scene was quite wondrous- but not just because of the terrific display of magic.

He'd never observed Evallan to be so content as in that moment. Perhaps it was because he couldn't guard his emotions while channelling Lightbringer's will in such fashion, but the stoicism Dorian was accustomed to had melted entirely. In it's place was an absent smile and peaceable demeanour, enhanced by the steady light imprinted on his Vallaslin. The whole image complimented him well, Dorian couldn't help but think.

 _Would you even notice it if I kissed you right_ now?

Immediately upon thinking it he stamped on the idea with self-loathing. That was _hardly_ a worthy thought or action, was it? _Especially_ towards someone who trusted him far more than he deserved to be trusted!

The tinkling of magic halted and Evallan's hand lowered along with the glow of his Vallaslin. He blinked at Dorian curiously.

“Is something wrong?”

“ _What?_ -” Dorian stumbled with thoughts and words as he had many times. “No, not at all, I was just thinking-”

_You're actually rather strapping, you know._

“You seem quite comfortable here!” He blurted instead. “You're in your element, I always wondered what that would look like.”

“In my element? I suppose,” Evallan seemed vexed. “But to be enclosed in a tower is unnatural for any living thing.”

“Well, yes,” Dorian tried to laugh off the clumsy topic. “But you're _impressive,_ nonetheless.”

The elf's lips tightened- but he did accept the compliment.

“Thank you.”

He was condemned to silence once more as they returned to what was becoming their new campsite. Most of their force was building or securing the site and Marcus strode to meet them.

“Lavellan,” He began the instant they were in audible distance. “We're taking a group to survey these passages and bring them down- bring mages. That Caladrius boy, and the other Lavellan.”

This was received by the Keeper with a hasty furrow of the brow and silence.

“Don't fucking look at me like that,” Marcus berated, fists tightening. “He could be useful, Lavellan. He'll be in the fucking back with Caladrius, don't cause _another_ fucking scene.”

Evallan continued to glower and say nothing. Marcus glowered back and attacked verbally.

“You want me to go back to the blighted tower and tell them you're a Maker-damned Abomination that doesn't do a fucking thing I tell it to!?”

Hissing wordlessly, Evallan stormed towards the mages and Dorian fell into his pace, fiddling with his cloak. It was probably good the elf held his temper that time but Dorian was agitated on his behalf- and just as helpless to do something about it.

“Caladrius,” Evallan directed to the idling mages, then, with mournful hesitation. “...And Lavellan.”

Both sprang- Elias, visibly enthused and Villyen, cautiously so. Evallan muttered something to his brother that earned a eye-roll from the younger Lavellan, otherwise they reported to Marcus in uneasy quiet.

“We're seeing what's in these passages, then bringing them down with Warden Lance's trick,” Marcus wasted no time in explaining, leading the completed party of Templars, Wardens and mages as he did. Lance excluded himself- someone of high rank had to remain. “Lavellan's walls are made to be dispelled, they're no good for what we need. We don't want anything to come through this place when we leave.”

As they started down the first path, Dorian shrank to Evallan's side- earning a glance from the elf that he dismissed with a shoulder-nudge, meant to be encouraging. The Keeper had suggested he hang back in such a circumstance but Dorian decided he'd feel safer in the warmth of Evallan's personal bubble, with Lightbringer's wards to soothe him.

Their first dive into the unknown was almost boring- a few Darkspawn that were easily disposed of. He hardly raised his weapon- at least it gave Elias an opportunity to cast a fire enchantment so he could leave his sword unsheathed. Elias and Villyen worked together to collapse the passage, Evallan watching with a gleam of pride. A part of him had to be pleased to see his brother grown and so capable, Dorian thought.

The second passage was similarly vacant, though with more of the vile creatures than the last. It was only on their way back, after blocking the tunnel further down, that something interesting occurred.

Evallan must have revealed something notable in his gaze- something Dorian missed, but Marcus did not.

“What? What did you see?” The Templar stomped over to where the pair were ambling along, Dorian shifted away and Evallan twisted his face in annoyance.

“I saw nothing, let us continue. This place reeks.”

“Like _fuck_ you didn't see anything!” Marcus shoved Evallan away to inspect the wall. Initially Dorian had no clue what inspired this behaviour, until he squinted and spied a thin groove in the middle of the stone.

“There's more tunnel here. This was magically sealed.” The Templar mused aloud.

“Perhaps it should remain so.” The elf advised coldly.

“That what your little spirit friend is telling you?” He shot an ugly smile towards him. “Well, that just makes me more curious what someone hid away- _Caladrius_!”

Elias was made to etch the surface with that earthen rune and deteriorate the wall- something he was learning to accomplish faster each time. Before Dorian could take a peek, Marcus bowled through, unsettling a layer of silt that left him gagging behind the Templar.

“I do not think we should linger.” Evallan tried again to dissuade the Commander, drifting in after him. Dorian followed uncertainly- if the Keeper, of all people, was disconcerted by what lay in the chamber, it was worth exercising caution.

What he beheld in the gloom was as bewildering as it was horrifying.

Upon the ground was a meticulously branded circle- the designs and etchings too foreign and ancient for Dorian to read. He could make an educated guess, based on the skeletal form slumped in its centre, and the other crouched by its fringe. The first of the pair lay vulnerable, hands squashed beneath their torso, the other knelt with theirs still upon the rim of the drawing. Both were crippled by an anguish Dorian couldn't pretend to imagine.

He had seen summoning circles before- this was the first time he'd seen the opposite. A circle of entrapment. A forbidden magic, thought to be lost to the ages. Whereas a summoning circle was designed to call a spirit, the purpose of a circle of entrapment was to restrain a mage.

Staring down at their tormented silhouettes, his stomach churned, limbs heavy, chest tight. He understood what Evallan sensed now, why he'd looked, and why Marcus had demanded to explore- despair blanketed the area in a shadow of dread.

His thoughts waded into that despair; he wondered if the two had known each other, if they were friends or enemies or lovers, if they had been forced to do this to the other, by who that might have been, why such an atrocity had been committed, who had sealed them here, how long had they been sealed, how long did it take till their bodies and their will succumbed to the drain of the circle, what had they said to each other, if they could say anything?

Fingers squeezed his arm, warmth spread where they touched.

“Nothing of them remains here.” Evallan consoled, soft enough only Dorian heard. He felt Lightbringer's ward embed into him less subtly and breathed again, grateful.

Behind them, the rest of their party filtered in. Ahead, Marcus paced the grisly sight, the toe of a plated boot scraping the outline.

“I would not touch that.” Evallan tried again, nearing desperation but only irritating the Templar.

“Tell me something, Lavellan...do you always figure you're the only one who knows what they're looking at?” With that, he jabbed a finger to the spot directly in front of the encircled corpse.

“Front and centre, Lavellan!”

The elf reluctantly slunk into place and Dorian's chest was seized by a panic he swiftly crushed- this wasn't the time to fall apart. Though no time really was. Elias appeared at his side and offered a smile for comfort but it hardly helped. Whatever mechanisms had been left here were not to be disrupted and certainly not by using Evallan as bait.

Marcus scuffed the circle with his boot.

Blood-curdling shrieks pierced the air, the collection of bones trapped by the pattern burst. From their dust erupted a blue-tinged, ragged form, levitating wildly. It spun and jerked before assaulting the elf with a concentrated blizzard.

Dorian's heart leapt to his throat and stuck there. His concern wobbled and waned as he observed one thing- Evallan's claim he would _'not be good food'_ for Despair was not as careless as he'd assumed.

Though the Despair Demon battered the Keeper with hail, he was statuesque, Lightbringer held outwards. Every piece mashed against Lightbringer and the invisible force it beckoned around itself, forming a jagged, glassy column against both weapon and wielder. Marcus observed, then continued perusing the circle and its contents.

Dorian assumed the Templar meant to give an order once properly assessing the situation. No command was given- and he was not oblivious to Evallan's plight, continuously glancing that direction but still, merely observing.

“ _Maker_ , are we just going to stand here?!” Dorian couldn't hold his tongue but was lucky it echoed the thoughts of others.

“Think Marcus hit his damn head he's so blighting tall!” Fletch unslung her bow. _“Fire in the hole!”_

With that she sent an arrow careening into the Despair Demon's rags and it wailed grotesquely before launching at the group.

“ _Shit!”_ Elias spluttered, tossing half-formed embers at the invader. It only grimaced but when its charge continued, would find Dorian's flame-blessed blade swinging downwards. The determination in his stance even impressed himself! _Well, almost._

Simultaneously Evallan lunged from behind, celestial blade impaling the demon's torso. When both swordsman yanked their weapons apart, the creature withered away into green mist, croaking obscenely.

Marcus was snickering as they righted themselves.

“Well if you're an Abomination,” He said to Evallan. “Doesn't seem to make any difference to _this_ thing.”

The rage that bubbled within Dorian was almost too much to restrain but by some miracle, he bit his tongue and forced himself to look elsewhere, to seem casual.

_This is how you're testing him? Throw him to literal Despair and see if he breaks?!_

Then again, what else could he expect? It was not much different from a Harrowing.

For his part, Evallan said nothing, brushing the shards from his robes with eyes downcast.

“There's some paths back there,” Marcus gestured to where Dorian now noticed a debilitated shrine, its purpose and god unrecognisable, a few narrow tunnels on each side. “We'll leave this chamber open for now. Could be there's something useful down there we can't reach another way. Right now, look around here. Whoever made these bindings had to have help.”

“We do not have enough relics gathering dust in the tower?” Evallan grumbled.

“No we fucking don't, Lavellan! That answer satisfy you?”

The two glared at each other in silence while the mixed party bumbled around the area, kicking bones aside or inspecting the shrine.

“Found something!” A Warden mage piped up and before anyone could look- began howling. When Dorian reached him he was already crowded, both hands squeezed earnestly by Evallan, a cool tinge signifying he aimed to lessen the man's suffering.

“ _No one else touch them!”_ The elf snarled, his horror blatant.

“Shut up, Lavellan!” Marcus lifted the objects into view- two carved runes, perfect for fitting in someone's palms. Recalling the posture of the obliterated skeleton, Dorian assumed they had been in its possession, then strewn with its bones. He convulsed with a violent shudder.

_Probably died holding the bloody things! Trapped by that bloody circle. And the other trapped until they both perished._

_Andraste have mercy!_

“The charge is spent,” Marcus surmised, tossing the ancient, unfamiliar things in his hands. “But these look interesting, don't they?”

“They look _vile_.” Evallan interjected, full of revulsion.

“ _Pfft!”_ Marcus sneered down at him and the simpering Warden. “An Abomination _would_ say that. Lightbringer telling you how ugly and nasty these little things are, Lavellan?”

If that was the case, such thoughts were not shared with Marcus- Evallan set his mouth into a passive line, focused on the injured Warden.

“You are fortunate you held them so briefly- the rune hardly set.” He assured with surprising beside-manner, ignoring the rest. Meanwhile, Marcus was ordering about one of the scouts- luckily not Dorian.

“I want a runner to get these to Irving- a _fast_ one- and for Maker's sake, don't let magic touch them.” Whirling upon the groaning Warden, he added. “And take that idiot back to Lance! Barely even touched the blighter...”

The scout pocketed the runes as ordered and carefully unburdened Evallan of the half-conscious mage, scurrying as quickly as he could with dead weight on his back. Their party trickled from the chamber, clambering outwards with the scout but for the opposite direction- there was one more area to investigate.

Dorian had been in absolute shock for most of the gruesome events, only realising once some distance was between them that his hand throbbed. He thought he'd acted perfectly- almost on par with Evallan! But no, the Despair Demon brushed his hand and now it was red from the sting- and _irritating!_

Preoccupied with blowing on and rubbing the incredibly minor injury, it took Evallan speaking for him to realise the elf had slowed to his pace.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Blighted thing grazed my hand!” He hissed, flapping the limb uselessly. Fingers that were becoming quite familiar to him coiled around his, stilling their motion. He smiled bashfully at Evallan while the elf blanketed the abrasion in numbing magic, expression dutiful.

“Are you going to kiss it better?” He teased, unable to prevent himself.

To his surprise Evallan angled a brow at him, then angled Dorian's knuckles to his lips- he did not really kiss them, but the suggestion was there. Dorian found it absolutely impossible to tell how much was in jest. He also couldn't restrain the colour in his cheeks, or the need to press his luck.

“And if I said it grazed my mouth...?”

The elf looked profoundly stupid as he blinked, no intelligent thought apparent on his face. Then a scowl took his features and he shoved Dorian's hand back towards him, rambling to himself in Dalish as he stalked away. Dorian could only imagine the amount of curses that speech entailed!

“I was _joking!_ \- w _ait!”_ He spluttered in bemusement, quickening his stride, though didn't get far- a voice startled him back to reality.

“You _are_ flirting with Lavellan!” It was Elias.

Dorian issued a long-winded sigh, shoulders slouching as if all the life were stolen from them. He couldn't fathom why his friends were so intrigued by his not-even-a-relationship with Evallan, but it was becoming tiresome. Could he not simply _be_ in the man's company without the whole Circle's opinion?

“Yes, alright,” He confessed defensively “So what? He's attractive, don't you think?”

“In a murderous, feral sort of way, maybe,” Furrowing his brow, of course there was an addition. “But-”

“ _Don't_ say he doesn't touch humans!” Dorian was prepared. “You _just_ saw him touch me!”

“He _plays along_ with you,” Elias countered. “He plays along with Fletch, too, so there's _some_ people he's friendly with.”

Dorian was failing to understand the point of this conversation- so what if Evallan was _'friendly'_ with so few? So what if his thoughts were hard to discern? His presence was enjoyable, could Dorian not be permitted _that_ much?

Boiling over, he was harsh with his words.

“And _why_ are you so much in my business lately, _Elias Caladrius?_ ” He swung the full weight of his friend's name around like a blade. “We're not teenagers anymore! You don't have to protect my feelings whenever I seem to fancy someone.”

“When you're fancying someone like _that_ -” Elias blustered.

“Like _what?_ ” His temper sharpened with every word he felt forced to bite out in Evallan's defence. “ _Dalish?_ An elf?”

“ _Maker, no!_ I don't care about Titus and Fila, do I? But he's...” His friend grasped his arm in plea, hastening to elaborate. “...You know how few people survive Tevinter _that_ long? One of those people is _Marcus_ \- who's _insane_...The others are Wardens- _blighted._ ”

Something was implied here but Dorian couldn't piece it together.

“ _So?!”_

“Don't make me say it, Dorian!” But he _would_ make him say it- whatever _it_ was! He ceased following their procession and stood motionless, narrowed eyes targetting Elias as severely as he knew how. Sighing in defeat, the other mage was forced to speak it aloud, voice timid from the power he knew the word held.

“He's an Abomination.”

“No, _he's not._ ” He was swift in his response, eyes slivering, voice authoritative. “ _Don't_ call him that.”

This wasn't as intimidating as he'd hoped- Elias listed his points in a small frenzy;

“He's bound to a spirit that keeps him alive!- Let's him do things no mage could do! They can't even rely on a Harrowing to figure out what he is!”

Dorian's temperature heightened with outrage, fingernails digging into palms- but though what Elias said was foolish and brash, at least in Dorian's perspective, this foolish, brash man was still his friend. For the sake of their friendship, he refused to knock the stupid man into the dust.

“ _I mean it, Caladrius.”_ Words forced out through grit teeth. “Shut _up._ He's _not_ an Abomination.”

“Maybe he's not,” Something in his face finally urged Elias to submit. “But _you_ don't know what he is, _either. You_ can't know what he's thinking...If anything, I'd say it's a little strange he's so friendly.”

“Well, I'm quite charming!” He managed to wrangle in his demeanour, seeing as Elias was no longer using _that_ word. “ _And_ I helped with his Harrowing- why _wouldn't_ he be friendly?”

“ _Or_ he's hiding something,” The other Tevinter stated, all seriousness. “ _You_ can't know, because _you_ don't really know how he thinks- _whatever_ he is.”

Dorian had no doubt Evallan was hiding a great many things- an infuriating part of his nature, but part of his nature regardless. Knowing this, he could only snicker at his friend, though it was closer to a sneer.

“I know better than _you_ , Caladrius.” And one thing he knew was Evallan very much did not need even his fellow mages spreading such gossip. _“Drop it._ And I'd better not hear you repeat the words _'Abomination'_ and _'Lavellan'_ in the same breathe.”

“I'm just looking out for you, Dorian.” Elias sighed in defeat, beginning to walk again. Dorian did also, but made a final statement.

“ _I know!_ And I _appreciate_ that, Elias...But don't endanger Lavellan with this foolish talk, I beg you.”

“Yeah, alright!” He shook his head dismissively. “It's not like I'm going to repeat it, okay?”

He considered the other mage for a time but decided, regardless of stupidity, Elias was still a man you could trust. Even so he couldn't help but feel agitated by his presence after that conversation, so he walked faster until he was by Evallan's side.

\--

“Well, something here don't smell right.” Fletch discerned of the final tunnel, wrinkling her nose. They'd descended for some time with no confrontation but she was correct there was something peculiar. Dorian wouldn't describe it as a smell exactly- but he was not a Warden. Tension strung the air tight, the nearest comparison he had was the sense of careful strain before one of Evallan's manic assaults.

Out of all the tunnels it was also the thinnest and seemed to narrow further as they walked- he began to regret his insistence to shadow Evallan. Thankfully the elf sensed as much- the peaceful ward cast by Lightbringer strengthened in response, muffling the panic. Still he thought it wise to gravitate to the back, where Templars and Wardens wouldn't crowd him.

“Not right _how?_ ” Marcus asked, not ceasing his march.

“Well...remember we said there might be something big down there? I think this loops right around, y'know...to the other side of that wall Lavellan put up?”

“Perhaps, then,” Evallan offered. “We should collapse the tunnel.”

“Not until we know what's down there.” The Templar demanded and they were forced to amble after his lead. If Lance were here, perhaps he would have dissuaded the Templar Commander- only he was really in a position to do so.

A steady rumble soon became evident to all of them, Warden or not. The vibration was rhythmic, something between foot-steps and breathing- if the origin were a giant. Dorian instinctively paused, causing Elias to bump into him, and Villyen to crash into the pair.

No one complained- Dorian wasn't the only one who'd stopped. Dead silence enraptured the party, even Marcus paused to scan the deep, Evallan alongside him.

“We should turn-”

“ _Shut up, Lavellan!”_ The Templar Commander's gauntlet smacked the mage upside his head, his circlet left askew. Dorian flinched.

“We should-” The elf was unswayed by the petty violence- but it was for nothing.

Everything shook from the force and weight that hurdled towards them.

All Dorian perceived before it was upon them was a bulky, looming mass. Something metallic whipped noisily before he could absorb anything else- they scattered as best they could, with what little space available. A cry of alarm rang out and even though he hardly knew the voice, he identified it flawlessly.

“ _Villyen!”_ The name escaped Dorian's mouth, twisting from his uncomfortable crouch to spring for the assailed Lavellan. The elf hunched against the rock like a cornered animal, feet braced hard against the ground and hand gripping his shoulder- Dorian saw why.

What he'd imagined as a metallic whip was in fact a lengthy, rusted chain of dark metal and at the end, pierced into the smaller Lavellan's shoulder, was a slender barb. On the other side of that line, the monster Dorian hadn't yet identified was yanking, aiming to drag.

“ _I've got you!”_ He reacted immediately- pouncing upon Villyen, he held him down with one hand and with the other, extracted the hook and tossed it aside. The younger mage gasped in relief for the intervention, until his eyes met Dorian's and he frowned in that manner characteristic of his bloodline.

_He's probably wondering who in all of Thedas I am!_

It would have been laughable but another anxiety arose- if Villyen had been attacked, and Evallan did not rush to his aid, then...

He spun in time to hear the Keeper's warning.

“ _Shield your eyes!”_

He did so.

Light flooded the cavern and Dorian was the first to open his eyes, finally making out what had fallen upon them. It was a Darkspawn Ogre- he recognised the giant, muscled form and frothing mouth from escaping Tevinter as a young man. But there was something off about this one- whereas Ogres typically had no weapons, this one was smothered in spiked chains it flailed madly.

“ _Awe fuck!_ Don't tell me the Emissary's been fucking around with these blighters!?” Fletch bemoaned the appearance of the thing, nocking an arrow to assist Evallan. Lightbringer's initial attack dizzied the creature and the Keeper wasted no time in circling it with one of his devastating Fade-Steps, bounding towards his allies while shouting decisively.

“ _Collapse the tunnel!”_

Elias pressed himself against the wall to do just that- but glanced at Marcus first.

“Do it.” The Templar echoed, still righting himself from being thrown- he was a heavier target than most. Although unscathed, the Ogre had successfully tumbled him.

Dorian spectated from his squat against the wall with the injured Villyen, eyes stuck on Evallan and the Ogre. If the passage felt small before, now it was miniscule- the creature's breadth almost met each side of the tunnel and its horns practically scraped the ceiling. Palpitations hummed through his body. More than anything he wanted for Evallan to reach them- so they could destroy the tunnel and flee this blighted hole!

The Keeper ran but over his shoulder the behemoth found what wits it had and floundered, smashing the ice that encased it, chains lashing frantically and barely missing their party. One of these whips cracked through the structure and right at Evallan. A spike tore into his side and he lost his feet, slamming to the floor, Lightbringer clutched desperately in both hands. He struck the ignited blade into the ground and Dorian was surprised to learn it was enough of a physical object to remain planted.

The elf coiled around the weapon like an anchor- but the vessel he was attached to was trying in earnest to embark. He must have realised this himself- ice swiftly formed atop him, rooting him to Lightbringer further. But it was no use! Dorian could see- blood was pooling heavily into the whiteness of his attire where he was hooked, he had to be losing physical stamina as well as willpower!

“ _Wait!”_ It wasn't a time to play games- he had to speak! _“He's caught!”_

Elias hesitated, looking between Evallan's predicament and Dorian's face- Marcus rebuffed them.

“He'll find his way around! Collapse the blighted tunnel, Caladrius!”

“ _Not if you cave him in, he won't!”_ Dorian shouted, bouncing from his protective corner to confront the Templar.

Sharp eyes pierced him- seeing for the first time. Noticing probably the attire beneath this scout's cloak were not typical of a Templar, and realising perhaps he knew that voice- and there was in fact only one human who Evallan might allow to _'supervise'_ him all day without complaint.

“That _you,_ fairy?”A grotesque smile spread across his marred face. “ _Of course_ it's you...And here I was thinking you'd run on home.”

Chuckling derisively, the Templar clapped Elias' shoulder.

“Collapse the fucking tunnel.”

Dorian sought out his friend's gaze but all he could offer was sincere, helpless apology in the form of a downturned mouth.

Elias placed his hand on the rune.

“ _NO!”_ Dorian ran.

It only occurred to him which direction he'd chosen when he sprinted by Evallan's bent form and did not stop.

Vaguely he caught scraps of argument between Elias and Marcus- for Evallan, Elias could only offer sympathy but of course for his friend he was compelled to delay the Commander as much as able.

Hands became adamant fists around his weapon, a flash of memory-

_I'll have you know- this is the sister-blade to Lightbringer!_

He dug deeper- that was no use- _what would Evallan do?_

Thoughts raced.

An image spiralled into his mind's eye- the dent that had materialised in his blade, Evallan smacking it repeatedly, tirelessly-

_He'd identify a vulnerability-_

_And he'd hack at it for all it's worth!_

Target in full view and distracted by it's main prize- as oblivious to Dorian's seamless responses as Evallan had been during that session.

First he yanked a chain and propelled himself to one side, pulling it along with him and only releasing when he was able to spool it around the Ogre's legs and puncture the flesh with its own weapon. This earned a vicious snarl, spittle flying and a huge hand almost bashing into his head- he kept moving and repeated the action with a separate chain, entangling it with the other.

By the third time, the Ogre was in a frenzy. There was nothing it could do but flail in wild, enraged confusion. Equilibrium compromised, all Dorian had to do to beckon it's fall was slash his blade across its knees.

He didn't wait to see how much it would stumble- he sprinted for Evallan. Beyond the crippled, crystal-covered form, Elias was finally strong-armed to will magic into the earthen rune. Over Dorian's shoulder, the grotesque mass writhed and flopped towards its prey like a beached shark, completely enraged.

But he had to focus- one thing, and one thing only.

“ _Evallan!”_ Knees scuffed stone as he met the Keeper, hands immediately seeking to wrench the barb from his ribs. Bleary eyes regarded him, around and above the tunnel quaked, rock split noisily, the ogre's shrieks tore into his skull.

“Dorian, you fool.” Evallan issued a sigh while reaching for his hand.

He clasped it in immediate understanding.

Magic sparked between them while the whole cavern fell atop their heads, smothering the Ogre's death-rattle. Though the whole world screamed and fell, no debris touched the pair. Utilising his own will as well as Dorian's, Evallan materialised a shimmering globe around them. Rubble slotted into every imaginable crevice against the barrier until the only light was from the shield itself, and the flicker emitted by their joined fingers.

When the crashing of mountain finally ceased, Dorian allowed himself to gasp in breathe- and gasp out regret.

“ _Oh Maker oh Maker oh Maker what I have done!?”_

He'd practically made a bee-line for his greatest fear- that's what he'd done! And now adrenaline and certainty drained from him, replaced by panic. He could scarcely move within the protective bubble and didn't want to consider how much air they had- a thought that made him breathe harder.

“Dorian..” Evallan whispered but he hardly processed, fighting to inhale- it did nothing. It didn't feel like there was air in here at all! It was already happening- he was going to suffocate!

_Maker, what was I thinking?_

_I always knew I'd die like this!_

_I didn't deserve to live- I know!_

_There were so many who deserved it far more!_

_If I could change it- if I could give myself-_

“Dorian!” Evallan's voice- louder this time. “Look at me!”

_Andraste have mercy I can't even honour your lives by putting my own to good use!_

_This is how I die!_

_I'm so sorry!_

Slim appendages freed his own and wrenched into his cloak, guiding him forward- blinking, he viewed a pair of unwavering, wintery eyes.

“ _Listen_ to me. Listen _only_ to me.”

Rhythmic words lulled through the tiny alcove. Foreign but not unknown to him- he recalled them very well. Gentle nostalgia whisked his thoughts elsewhere. The elf's singing voice had not improved and he was not quite singing, but reciting- still, the lyrics were the same.

_That was a lovely song. I've never heard a lullaby like it._

_'I was singing for the children.'_

“It's not a song.” Dorian stated absent-mindedly, senses blanketed in warmth, safety. “It's an incantation.”

Satisfied by this level of awareness, Evallan's performance ended.

“It is both,” He explained in a rush. “Lightbringer has sealed your fear, but it will not last.”

“You looked at me like I was so stupid, you know!” Dorian laughed, carefree- what had he been so worried about, again? “But the song is designed to soothe and draw people in! So you could put the children to sleep! You could have told me such a thing and saved me the embarrassment, Evallan!”

“ _Dorian!”_ He began severely. “You are oblivious to your fear- but that does not mean we are out of danger! You _must_ focus on our situation!”

“ _Right!_ Right, right, right,” Dorian hummed while he herded his thoughts into one direction, looking around for an idea. “Well...I suppose we can use Lance's rune to collapse the wall _again_ , but it'll have to be on the sloping side, gravity is quite against us.”

“Yes.”

“Even with the rune,” Dorian surmised. “This cavern has already taken a beating! Unless we can hold up the roof, we'll just be crushed even more.” Dimly, he was aware that this should upset him.

“I will hold it.” The Keeper muttered with visible exhaustion, placing his hand against the barrier. “You must collapse the far side.”

Though Lightbringer was holding onto the majority of his apprehension, he still had enough left for doubt, needing to inquire;

“I've seen what you can do with frost, Evallan....But have you ever tried to hold up a mountain?”

“No.” Stern lines deepened along his face. “But we have no choice, and no time.”

Accepting that, Dorian began to etch the pattern onto the floor between them, supposing to himself he should be glad for the opportunity- it had been a _little_ boring, watching the other mages have all the fun. Besides- what they did was child's play! Dorian would _really_ test the limits of this rune.

“There is one more thing,” Evallan informed while he drew. “I will likely not remain conscious. If you cannot Fade-Step us both out of here in time, your insistence on trapping yourself with me will be for nothing.”

“Don't worry,” He retracted his hand from the rune and admired it, barely aware of his own speech. “If we leave this place, it's together, I swear.”

Looking up, he spied Evallan surveying him, weary-eyed.

“Trust me.” He smiled brightly at the elf, who broke contact and focused on the wall.

Sheathing both their magical blades, they meditated over their task for a moment before joining hands again.

“We must work-”

“In synchronicity,” Dorian's smile widened. “I know.”

He was studied coolly for a moment, then;

“Are you ready?”

He nodded, confident.

With a deep breathe, shards of ice crept through every gap of rock on the elf's side- soon rushing to curve above their heads like a freak storm, their alcove consumed by the light of the Vallaslin.

“One-” Evallan counted.

“Two-” Dorian pressed his palm to the earthen rune.

They both paused. Above, he heard the unreal, crackling orchestra of Evallan's spell.

“Three.” The elf breathed and Dorian slammed his knuckles.

Rocks shattered and ice surged simultaneously, cold and grit blasted into their hovel. He felt Evallan slump into his side- likely unable to withstand the strain of the avalanche any longer. Dorian's arm curled snugly around his waist. He charged the ground below with magic and sprinted at incredible velocity, targeting a singular gap within the waterfall of earth and frost -

\- never loosening his grip on Evallan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Nooooo they Fell Clumsily What Could This Possibly be a set up for OhNoo


	8. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 3.5) Dorian and Evallan take a stroll through the Deep Roads while exchanging bedtime stories as if their lives aren't in peril.

Dorian Pavus still held his hand when he awoke.

Evallan experienced gratitude and mortification in equal measure as he stared at the arch of the tent above, mentally rehashing the nights occurrence.

The Tevinter could not have known physical contact would interrupt the channelling, nor could he have known to maintain his grip throughout the night. Yet by some instinct, he had realised what was required for Evallan to sleep undisturbed.

Painfully conscious of every restless finger, he pressed them astride the other mage's knuckles as he'd wanted to in dream. Since there was no reaction he gathered more nerve, gingerly rubbing his thumb along the curve of his hand. His heart hammered in his ears and his chest constricted, but he couldn't help himself.

Dorian's hands were softer than his, he noted, much less assaulted by their environment- he likely made more effort to care for them than Evallan. The few notable imperfections were recent, from their sparring. It was strange to think of his existence as something abraded into the man's flesh, but the thought was unavoidable.

_I could lay here for a while._

_I could lay here and pretend it is normal for us to do this._

He forced himself to sit up, freeing Dorian with a reluctance that gouged his heart- this was inappropriate.

It was also inappropriate to observe him as he slept but Evallan found himself doing that too. Not for the first time- he remembered the first, when the foolish Tevinter wandered to their aravel years ago. Even then he could not help seizing the opportunity to admire without witness- the subject of his admiration included.

And now with no one there or conscious to scrutinise, it was impossible for him not to extend his fingers, brushing against the Tevinter's jaw.

_It is true that you are quite handsome._

Dorian stirred as if sensing his thoughts. Anxiety fractured his musings and he retracted, hastily exiting the tent.

They would have to discuss the issue of Lightbringer- perhaps it was not awful Dorian knew. He had watched over Evallan before and his own clan-sister attested to the man's reliability. Evallan simply had to be careful.

Careful not to turn the situation into something it was not.

Some of the Tevinter's behaviour implied he might not even mind if it were otherwise- but Evallan minded.

 _We are not_ really _the same._

_He cannot understand the responsibility we have._

_What has been lost, or what must be regained._

_He has his own responsibilities- his own losses._

_He will not walk with us._

While he agonised over his thoughts, he prepared a campfire. Sky still untouched by day, the temperature within their tent would drop with only Dorian inside. But he couldn't bear to be enclosed with him any longer- at least not while he was unaware and Evallan's thoughts were permitted to drift.

There was nothing for him to do but prepare a cleansing potion for Dorian and appoint himself sentry-duty until the Templars roused. His first task took hardly anytime- they had most of the ingredients, and spindleweed was easily located nearer the Deep Roads entrance

Fortunately the Templar Commander was one of the few who kept similar hours to him, and he would know to expect Lavellan alert and awaiting direction. On his third or so lap of the area, Marcus stood outside a shelter, waving him over.

The commander was swift in reciting duties and strategies, the handful that made up his usual crew present. Some yawned inattentively but if Marcus smacked the war table or barked their names they responded without delay.

More often than not Evallan strived to be attentive but as he'd told Dorian Pavus- he was prone to distraction. While Marcus spoke he gestured with a fist clenching a half-eaten apple and this usurped Evallan's gaze. Fresh food was not commonplace, fresh fruit even less so. He tried to process the Templar's words but his eyes pinned the ruby sheen, wondering where it could have come from. He personally found it vulgar of Marcus to consume it so blatantly in front of his men.

“Are you _listening,_ Lavellan?” Marcus snapped, slamming apple and knuckles onto the Deep Roads map between them.

“Yes.” He stated automatically- untruthfully.

“Then what in all of fucking Thedas did I just say?” The Templar rasped. Evallan fought to look at the man's face and not what he held.

“Something I have heard countless other times, and that I do not need to hear again?” He matched the commander's impatience.

“Where's your blighted head at, Lavellan?!” Marcus spat, eyes narrowing, searching his face.

“It is nowhere!” Evallan snarled. “I have heard this before!”

“You're not looking at my Maker-damned face.” His worn brow punctuated his stare. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” Hands became fists, glowering as much at the man's _face_ as he could.

There was a strained silence between them as they glared and the group of Templars spectated, likely mystified.

Marcus began shaking his head, angling his hand upwards, the true point of Evallan's focus catching the light.

“ _It's the void-damned apple, isn't it?!”_ He accused, baffled and infuriated- which enraged Evallan in turn.

“ _It was not!”_ He went so far as to stamp his foot, only realising how childish it must have looked a moment later. Evallan tried to will the humiliated colour from his face while grinding teeth but Marcus merely turned away, muttering.

“Can't fucking believe the blighting shitting nonsense I have to put up with-” He wrestled something from a pack hanging in the corner. “Ten fucking years of this shit, Lavellan! Like looking after a blighting kid!”

Turning, he slammed an apple onto the table.

“Take your fucking fruit and listen!” He bit out the words. “And don't say I never fucking give you anything!”

Evallan plucked the offering and cradled it in his grasp but must have eyed Marcus strangely, thoughts written on his face- at least to the Templar.

“ _What now?”_

He bit the inside of his cheek, hardening features but aiming to speak demurely.

“May I have two?”

“ _You may not have two!”_ Marcus spluttered, incredulous. “I'm not shitting apples, Lavellan!”

“Where did they come from?” Evallan hazarded, causing Marcus to sneer- but still he replied.

“They're doing some regenerative thing on the lower levels, the garden crew. These came from the first edible batch but they don't have seeds, so they're spoils of war now.”

“You speak of Fila, she leads that research,” His head tilted. “She is a Lavellan. Technically those apples are mine.”

The Templar's chest quaked with tearful, agitated laughter, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Did I ask for a fucking lesson in Dalish property law?! You're not getting another blighting apple!” His boot assaulted the table-leg. “Why are we arguing about fucking apples?! Is this what I called you in here for?! To give me an apple-lecture?!”

Lips thinning, Evallan lowered his head and considered whether or not to share this _'spoil of war'_ with Dorian Pavus. The Tevinter could probably use the nutrition after his night of drinking and in a way he had as much right to the rewards of Fila's labour as Evallan.

He pondered this more than he listened to Marcus but was still the first to leave when dismissed.

On his way to collect morning rations he was stopped by a voice that was only vaguely familiar.

“Lavellan?”

He halted reluctantly, peering over his shoulder at the Templar and recognising him as the most junior of Marcus' crew. Though anyone could surmise as much; his features lacked visible scars and were slightly rounded from passing youth.

“What do you want?” He saw no reason to mince words- though the young man was likely harmless, he still fulfilled a role that put him at odds with Evallan. That he was lower in hierarchy than Marcus only meant Evallan felt less keen to humour him.

“Um...I'm Bauer- Jordan- do you remember me?”

“I asked what you wanted, not who you were.” He said tersely.

At this the young Templar beckoned for patience with a nervous gesture. A hand slipped into his cloak and when it was unveiled, extended a new apple towards Evallan. The Keeper studied it, then scrutinised the Templar's face with as much visible disdain as he knew how to communicate.

“What is _this?_ ”

“...An apple?” The Templar reproached, blinking in a way that suggested he was truly vexed. This incensed Evallan, his study of the man evolving into a glare.

“And what do you want for it?”

The Templar looked around as if seeking guidance from his Maker.

“...Nothing?” He began awkwardly. “You want it for your brother, right? You Lavellans are picky eaters.”

He examined more intensely but did not touch.

“Have you done anything to it?” He asked, drilling his gaze into this _'Jordan's'_ face once more but the young man came across earnestly perplexed.

“Why would I do anything to it?” He swung it between them, coaxing.

“If you have, you will regret it.” Evallan warned, icing over his expression.

“I didn't- I swear!” The knight chuckled and nudged the apple towards him. Evallan allowed it to fall into his grasp, leering.

“I don't even like apples.” The Templar announced with another clumsy laugh.

“Taking this does not in-debt me to you.” Evallan clarified, angling the object near his face.

“No,” He answered with a bewildered half-grin. “It's just an apple. I thought the other Lavellan might want it- that's all.”

Ignoring him, Evallan turned the produce over in his hands, sensing nothing amiss- even so, he made a mental note to give the other one to Dorian Pavus, keeping this one for himself. If it had been tampered with he would hardly notice- whereas Dorian would be quite miserable. As he meditated on this, the Templar was given opportunity to inquire;

“So...the others say you've worked with them a long time but don't remember their names?” He sounded amused- if somewhat disbelieving.

The Keeper met his eye sharply, displaying the apple before him once more.

“Does this require me to remember yours?” Said icily, but it was a genuine question.

“No,” The young man breathed out in exasperation. _“Still_ just an apple.”

“Then I will take my leave.” Tolerance spent, he made to do just that but hesitated upon hearing the cheerful criticism tossed at his back-

“No thank you? It's true what they say- you Lavellans have no manners!”

He wavered- certainly he had no obligation to politeness towards those he considered his jailers. Still he managed to feel shame, sighing over his shoulder.

“Thank you for the apple.” Not bothering to see how that was received, he plunged onward. Attention descending to the fruit he now held, it was something else that flashed a light in his brain-

A glint of amber from morning sunlight- Dorian's amulet exposed against his chest, on the outer layers of his clothes instead of neatly wrapped.

Of course he would not wear it in such a way and if he misplaced its position, he would notice- and someone should have reacted! The weighty gold was like a target painted on dull colour, an obvious discrepancy against his typical frost.

There was only one explanation and indeed images crept into his mind- The Deep Roads, the Darkspawn Ogre, Dorian Pavus- _that fool!_

To confirm his theory he spun and tossed the apple at the Templar's calmly retreating back. He was bonked on the head and the fruit rolled away but the shem ambled along, a puppet with an inattentive master.

Evallan was unconscious- dreaming- looping memories in the Fade- his vessel likely sprawled out somewhere in the Deep Roads-

“ _Lightbringer!”_ He begged the dream “You must wake me! I cannot stay here!”

Stillness. Nothing more.

“ _Lightbringer!”_ He kicked the ground, raising his voice higher. _“Do not ignore me!”_

She commenced doing just that. He knew she was aware- since calling for her, the activity in his environment had ceased unnaturally. Evallan identified her illusion so there was no point in expending will- but that was not a sign of cooperation.

Knowing his choices were limited and he could not leave Dorian to the Deep Roads alone, he spread his fingers along his chest.

“I may not have the will to summon you...but I will _still_ try! If you do not-”

The threat was enough- he supposed it would be. The Spirit's goal was to force recuperation after the drain on their combined stamina. Accepting her chosen would not relent, the colour and shape of the world ebbed until it was stripped completely.

Evallan recognised the area that materialised- it was his place, his dream; the wrecked, void-ridden library decimated by ice, covered in script and blood. That was not all- a space he knew had contained spires was missing, replaced by a shimmering border not unlike Lightbringer's shield.

Behind it stood Lightbringer herself- a tall and slender being of light, draped in robes akin to the Lavellan clan's- for what could be seen through the radiance. The shifting glow made her features indiscernible- though he long understood _'she'_ was a title of habit more than descriptor.

As his eyes adjusted he processed more detail- the dream housing Lightbringer was different from his. Not a snowed-in landscape; it was winding crystal, so reflective his eyes watered. It was her place; as the tower and wintery wasteland was his echo, her echo was of a homeland long lost.

Connecting these tiny worlds was a luminous tether and he noticed it wasn't projected only onto the barrier but also his chest- a pin-point of light. If he turned one way or the other, or angled in certain perspectives, it vanished or flickered like a children's mirror-trick.

Fascinated and never having been this close to Lightbringer or her dream, the nature of this bond stole his focus. He passed his hand over it, tilted his body this way or that, paced the barrier to watch the pin-point extend or blur, depending on direction...

It soon occurred to him Lightbringer observed somewhat crossly- hands on hips and the morphing brightness of her visage attempting to cast a frown. For a moment she looked painfully like his mother but with this came a flood of embarrassment. Straightening, he cleared his throat.

“I apologise...” He attempted to appear serious. “Why do you hold me here?”

Tapping her foot, Lightbringer gestured to the tether- apparently unimpressed he failed to note the most important thing. Somewhere in the middle, the connection had frayed- light seeped from the vulnerability and into the Fade.

“I have strained something, no?” He had expected this consequence- it changed nothing. “But it is not fatal, we will heal stronger. In the meantime- I cannot cast, but I can walk.”

Lightbringer regarded him coolly then folded her arms, still seeming unimpressed.

“I know what you wish to do.” He furrowed his brow, determined. “But you cannot leave me in stasis to recover. Dorian Pavus cannot navigate without us- I will not trade his life for mine.”

At this she craned her head thoughtfully as if to say _'is that so?'._ No motion was made to free them from the dream. A pang of shame corrupted his resolution and he did his best to crush it.

“ _I know he is not clan!”_ Did he not remind himself every day? “But he chased me into that blighted hole, despite his fears! And if it were not for him- I would not have survived The Harrowing! I would not have thought to summon you without his instruction- I would not have created an anchor if he had not taught me!”

With each word he closed the gap between him and the barrier and once there, he smashed his fist upon it, ignoring the glimmer of vibration while eyes squinted at the Spirit.

She watched, passive.

“My life does _not_ have more value than his!” He struck the forcefield again, heart drumming in his ears, agonising against his ribcage- surely she could not _really_ expect him to abandon Dorian Pavus to the Deep Roads?!

“You _will_ send me back!”

She continued to eye him with something odd and difficult to comprehend in her gaze- did she think this _funny!?_ Overwhelmed by frustration, he assaulted the barrier again and again, wailing with voice as well as fists.

“ _Lightbringer! I am serious!”_ Familiar, tireless words possessed his tongue. _“We must continue!”_

The expression he strived to identify on her face was further bemused. He was on the verge of insisting to know what was so wretchedly funny when the ground melted, a sensation of endless descent lurching through his nerves.

\--

A pair of steely eyes blurred into focus.

The dim, orange hue of the Deep Roads outlined Dorian's slightly agape jaw and petrified stare. Shock plainly stamped his features, accentuated by a shade that made his skin ashen. Panic seized Evallan and instinctively his hand snatched to feel his chest.

Still there- the dent of the birthright under his clothes. Somehow, miraculously, not thrown from its hiding place. But then why was the Tevinter looking at him in such a way? He had never witnessed the man so aghast.

Sensing his thoughts, a timid smile curved Dorian's mouth, a finger uncurling to indicate over Evallan's head. With an aching groan he slumped upwards and twisted around.

They had escaped mostly unscathed- that much was certain- and he saw now how the structure suffered. The entire length of wall was encased by thickly layered ice, rooting half-toppled masses together. Where there was a chasm from Dorian's usage of the earthen rune, debris hung suspended by lengthy tendrils- a gigantic spiderweb of diamond.

It was a mad, impossible scene and he knew why Dorian gaped so, even before the man blathered to explain.

“When I heard the stories you'd frozen over entire thaigs and such, I always assumed you had help.” He issued a delirious sort of giggle. “Even after seeing some of your capabilities, that was the reasonable conclusion.”

He met Evallan's gaze then broke it, speaking to empty air.

“But you really did it all yourself, then just had someone drag you off the battlefield.”

“No, I still had help,” He breathed out tiredly. “Lightbringer is capable of much that a mortal alone could not accomplish.”

Dorian remained transfixed on something in the middle of the frozen blockage.

_I know what you are thinking._

_\- Abomination, is that not the word?_

He faced Evallan, grimacing.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.” He answered promptly, not allowing time for aid to be offered, not wanting Dorian to feel obligated to touch him. The Tevinter hesitated to stand nonetheless but there was an apprehension in him Evallan had never seen before. Cold fingers embedded into his chest and he internally wrenched them away, willing himself onto his feet.

_I already knew -_

_\- one day, how you look at me would change._

_One way or another, it was inevitable._

He managed a few dizzying, uneven paces then folded into the unforgiving terrain. Tremors possessed him and his temperature was elevating- a typical consequence when lacking Lightbringer's ward. Without it to defend, toxic influences drawn to the Spirit's presence had free reign to assault.

It was a minor thing- but would be a hindrance until he had time to recover.

“' _Yes'_ , he says! And so very seriously!” Dorian was shrill as he leapt to his side, hooking an arm around his waist- yet there was an apprehension in that too. He tensed in the man's grasp but knew they both had to withstand the discomfort.

“You should have just said you needed help, Evallan!” The Tevinter scolded, trudging along with him in tow.

“Do not be so loud.” He mumbled, trying to survey the area. “We may be close to the nest.”

“You're stupid, anyway,” Dorian rambled, still frantic though with more control. “Villyen was attacked, so you ran off to do something about it- then you were so focused on him you weren't paying attention-”

“You have the right of it.” He confessed wearily.

“-And then _I_ ran after _you_ , because I'm _also stupid!_ ”

“You saved Villyen's life, and then saved mine.” He stated, grateful at least for the first. “But it was still foolish.”

“Oh you don't have to tell _me_ any of that!” A short, hysterical laugh rang through him.

“You must calm.” Evallan dug his fingers into the Tevinter's back, trying to be of comfort. He felt truly helpless without Lightbringer, unable even to console his travelling companion.

“Right! Right, I'm sorry.” He exhaled, gesturing with his free hand to their wrecked, narrow surroundings. “This is something of a nightmare, you know.”

“I know. But we must press on.”

More of the damage became evident as they progressed- the passage had erupted, snowed over or caved at a surprising distance. They were fortunate; tripping over lifeless bodies pinned by rubble showed they would have had more Darkspawn to contend with.

The tunnel opened to a spacious ruin, more brightly lit than previous areas- with actual torches.

“Darkspawn also appreciate a little ambient lighting, do they?” Dorian remarked.

“Though they live in the dark, they do not see well.” Evallan conveyed as they slunk along the edges- there were moving shapes but none close by. “Their sight is worse than yours or mine. They are led by their sense of smell and the influence of the horde.”

They crept the perimeter, keeping a wide berth between them and any sign of activity. More alcoves came into view and Dorian observed with a nudge.

“Isn't that the road you blocked off before we left?”

“But we cannot go that way. It is too close to where the Emissary fled, and it would be unwise to dispel the wall.”

“Which way then!?” He was agitated and Evallan thought he knew why; the remaining options were crushingly thin- or they would feel as such to Dorian.

“The only chamber Marcus insist we not collapse- do you remember it?” He made an effort to guide the Tevinter by leaning, senses attuned for a specific presence. An imprint of endless misery, somewhere in the maze above.

“ _What?_ What chamber?” The traumatic events seemed to have shaken the man's recollection, Evallan tried again.

“The Despair Demon- you recall it?”

“Oh- right, right.” He chuckled. “I think I hit my head in the fall.”

He gave no response, intent on navigating. He would rather not dwell on the source of Dorian's scatter-brained anxiety- the image of his haunted expression still plagued him.

Reaching an especially slim tunnel, the outpouring of dread from this crevice was unmistakeable. He aimed to coax the Tevinter that direction but the man halted, questioning Evallan meekly.

“Do we _really_ have to go that way?”

“Yes, we cannot dispel the wall.”

“You can't cast your ward- and it's not a very welcoming sight-”

“We have no choice.” He squeezed the man's shoulder, hoping it would reassure him. “You have already been through the worst of it- a mountain fell on you, and _you moved it_. All we must do is walk.”

The Tevinter inhaled dramatically a few times before one of his coy smirks swept over his face- though as uneasy as his overall demeanour.

“Would you hold my hand?” He joked and Evallan felt an icicle pierce his ribs, not wanting to play such games. It was fine when he could make-believe the affection was genuine- impossible to do after the way Dorian had looked at him.

“You are already holding me up,” He responded without humour while urging the Tevinter forward. “This is no time to joke.”

Dorian's posture hunched and his muscles strained but still he followed Evallan's lead. He could not blame the man for his fear- he was already disconcerted by small spaces, to be trapped with an Abomination he knew could obstruct the whole area if he had the inclination must be terrifying.

“Alright, well!” He sniffed decisively, slumping heavier on Evallan. “If you're not going to hold my hand, I need to be distracted some other way- can you sing, or something? Even without that little trick you do?”

“What would be the point?” He derided. “I am not a good singer.”

“I like the sound of it, anyway!” Dorian insisted, almost pouting. “Is that so strange?”

He glanced at the Tevinter and said nothing- what could he say? These forced attempts to appear natural heckled Evallan's nerves, preferring they would not speak at all.

“Well, we can't keep quiet,” Of course Dorian Pavus had to rebel against such notion, though Evallan was sympathetic to his reasoning. “I'll go mad and you'll be dead weight. You can tell me what that song of yours means, at least. It's the same you would sing for the children, yes?”

“Yes.” He replied without eye contact, his attention on climbing.

“And the song is...?”

“A story of Mythal and Elgar'nan.” He tried to chase the ire from his tone- regardless of what Dorian thought him, he had to keep the man soothed until they traversed the passage.

“Which I probably don't know, Evallan.” Without seeing he felt the Tevinter's expectant gaze. Sighing, he launched into recital;

“There is a war between gods. The sun burns the earth to ash. Elgar'nan punishes the sun by banishing it and imprisoning a moon. Mythal intervenes and shows Elgar'nan the error of his fury- that is the stanza you would find most familiar. It is the one used as incantation.”

Dorian slouched heavier into him, inquiring.

“You're leaving out quite a bit. What did they war about? What do moons have to do with any of it?”

“It is _allegory_ , Dorian.” Evallan whisked out an intolerant breathe but held himself.

“Still! I can't put it together if you don't explain.”

Smothering his temper, he elaborated;

“The sun saw a reflection of itself in one of our moons and claimed the moon for itself. Elgar'nan, as the sun's guardian, found this offensive. They fought. Mythal- our Great Protector- intervened. It is not a complicated story.”

“A jealous god, you say?- How romantic!” Dorian commented with an effortless laugh. “Certainly not what I expected.”

“You think it is _romantic?”_ His face flushed and he bore it by centring on irritation. “You shem have such simplistic views sometimes.”

“Oh I'm _sorry,_ Evallan!” He chuckled again, just as easily. “Does my _simplistic shem view_ on folklore offend you?”

“No.” He stated, more aware of the tinge of heat in his features. “But there is much to be observed in the story. Duty, sacrifice, vengeance, forgiveness, faith. It is typical of a shem that you focus only on perceived romance.”

“And _of course_ the Keeper of the Lavellans would think all those things more important than love.” There was something accusatory in his tone that Evallan decided he disliked.

“It is allegory,” He repeated. “Most likely a stylised account of a misunderstanding between nations. Mythal and Elgar'nan may have existed, but I highly doubt Elgar'nan ever banished the sun- or the earth razed to ash. Have you ever heard of such things in history?”

“Eclipses, magical catastrophes, the Blight-”

“You are proving my point.” He interjected with a tone of finality. “Those are all regular occurrences. There was no war between the elven gods and the sun. There _is_ no romance. It is a historical account of something we have forgotten.”

“And I was about to say how interesting it was,” Dorian remarked in jest. “Now you've made it boring!- Tell me another.”

He struggled to bat away the smile that almost crept onto his mouth and muttered dryly.

“After you called that one boring?”

“Come on, Evallan! I thought you Dalish liked storytelling.”

He said nothing and Dorian was forced to entertain himself.

“Fine, I'll tell a story then!” He tapped his chin, seeming to think intensely. “So there's this...prince, let's say, and one day he's saved by a knight-”

“Saved from what?” He questioned absently.

“Does it matter?” Dorian mock-guffawed. “Yours was hardly very detailed!”

Evallan regarded the man coolly, implying dissatisfaction. Dorian relented, groaning and waving his unburdened arm.

“Alright, fine! There's this prince and he's been locked away in a tower forever by his _evil-nasty_ -king father!”

He couldn't prevent a tiny laugh from slipping.

“And why would the king do this?”

“Because the prince is just too handsome, and talented, and intelligent, and his king-father resents he can't utilise those capabilities for himself,” He answered promptly, with a whimsical smile. “But one day! A gallant knight with a strong sense of justice arrives at the tower. He'd fallen in love with the prince from afar, you see-”

“ _Of course_ there is romance.” He made a show of rolling his eyes.

“Yes, _actual romance!_ Not some silly allegory between celestial bodies!” There was still a nervous edge to Dorian's manner but it was becoming outshone by his amusement. “Are you going to let me tell my story? I didn't interrupt you so much.”

He made eye contact with the Tevinter, wordless. Taking that as obedience, the man went on;

“Alright, so! He'd fallen in love with the prince from afar and he travels to the tower, fights his way through and saves the prince-”

“He just fights his way through?” Evallan interrupted again to highlight the absurdity. “He has no one or nothing to answer for?”

“No, of course he doesn't!” Dorian scoffed as if it should have been obvious. “He's not some Templar, or a Kingsman- he's a _real_ knight! He follows his own code of conduct!”

He accepted that, falling into polite silence once more. Dorian seemed pleased, quite animated as he continued.

“So. He takes the prince away to his own small kingdom where the royal family will protect them. However, this starts a war.” He placed a hand over his breast in exaggerated solemnity. “The prince isn't a soldier, so he can do nothing to help. But the knight knows he has to fulfil his duties. Before he leaves, the prince gives him a token of his affection- a ring or something. It's understood between them that if the token returns without him, he has fallen.”

This was sounding eerily familiar- though ridiculously bastardised. He recalled again the way Dorian beheld him when he'd awoke in the tunnel but dismissed it. If the Tevinter had discovered his birthright, surely he would have reclaimed it and they would be in conflict right now. They wouldn't be telling juvenile tales of romance as they limped for their lives.

Still he scrutinised Dorian as he asked.

“And then?”

“The ring never returns- but neither does the knight.” He spoke with feigned mourning. “They hear nothing from him and so the prince, in grief and desperations, travels far and wide to search the battlefield- either for a living knight, or a lost token. And then, ah...”

Trailing off, the Tevinter scowled into the darkness, his own story eluding him.

 _No,_ Evallan decided, _he could not have seen the birthright._

“You did not think this through, did you?” He accused with a half-smirk.

“No, I didn't!” Dorian spluttered, distress returning in full-force. “But it's still better than _your_ story! At least there's _actual_ people- _and_ the countries aren't represented by the sun or what-have-you! _And I just_ made it up!”

Evallan had to relent, fighting a smile.

“It was not terrible, all things considered.”

They travelled without conversation until Dorian abruptly halted to inspect a tunnel branching from theirs.

“Why are you stopping?”

“There's a draft.” He extended his arm.

“Not in the direction we are headed.”

“But there might be somewhere we can rest! I could use a real gasp of air, Evallan.”

He yielded, not wanting the Tevinter to provoke his phobia more than it had been. Dorian's instinct proved useful- the short tunnel led to an area that was mostly caved-in but with ample room, much less suffocating. There was nowhere to go except the way they came but that too was fortunate- at least they could not be taken by surprise.

The pair settled beneath one of the warm orbs that lightened the area, Dorian aiding him so he would not lose equilibrium. Exhaustion wormed into his limbs the instant they were able to relax but he disregarded it.

“I will keep watch, you should rest.”

“Wouldn't it make more sense for you to rest? You need to recover.” Dorian squinted.

“You are the one carrying me, you must rest.”

The Tevinter lofted a brow sceptically but made no verbal argument.

After a short while of wordless sitting, Evallan striving to keep eyes open, Dorian spoke.

“Has anyone ever done anything like that for you?”

He blinked, lost.

“Done what?”

“Given you a token!” The man snapped, brandishing his hand as if he had such token.

He stared at Dorian for a long time, uncertain what to say, dread burrowing into his heart.

“Not unless you include Fila's rune.” He forced out the words.

“ _Really?”_ A brow raised at him. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Even if someone _wanted_ to give you something, I can't imagine you'd make it easy for them.”

“And why are you asking me such things?!” Evallan lashed out, hoping the panic didn't chime in his voice. This was met by a flustered chuckle, the other mage rubbing the back of his neck as he examined something far away.

“Oh, I don't know...maybe it's the whole almost-being-crushed thing. I sort of wish I'd left something with someone, or convinced someone to give _me_ something. That way, it would be far more dramatic if we were to die here.”

“You think that is the purpose of a token?” He ground out, bewildered but not suspicious- if anything, this confirmed even more Dorian had no idea of the amulet. These were not the musings of a man who had something stolen from him, yet certainly of one maddened by stress.

“Well what else would it be for, if it's not to make the person who gave it to you miserable?”

“You are assuming the perspective of the gift-giver would matter to the person with the gift.”

“Wouldn't it?” Dorian studied him so closely he almost shrank.

_We would not be having this conversation if he knew._

_He is scared and exhausted, that is all._

“No.” He said firmly, eyes downcast.

“Well, then I don't see the point in it!” He threw his arms up in exasperation and slumped. Evallan gave no reply.

_I need to keep my eyes open._

_I will think of that and nothing else._

Despite his conviction a scrap of time was robbed from him, unknown how it was spent or when he lost consciousness. Evallan found himself coiled on his side, something dark and blurry obstructing his view of the rubble. It occurred to him this was Dorian's knee-guard- Evallan's head was perched upon his leg and he could feel a hand idly rubbing his shoulder.

He did not want to move but knew he had to, lunging upright with a snarl.

“I said I would keep watch!”

“You fell asleep, tried to use my boot as a pillow.” Dorian was smiling almost with affection. “I thought you'd appreciate being more comfortable.”

He shook the grogginess from his head, eager to keep going.

“We should move on, if you are able.”

“Here- take this first.” A flattened rock carrying a sickly coloured paste was offered. “You're lucky you're stuck down here with me- I doubt most of the others would know what to look for.”

Apparently he slumbered long enough for Dorian to acquire the base ingredients for a stamina remedy, blending them however he could with simple magic. Even the unassuming rock had been fashioned from a clay deposit and a tempered scorching. He felt shame for that but gratitude also.

“Thank you...” He fumbled with the makeshift plate, eyes darting around the Tevinter's but never meeting. “I knew I was correct to bring you...If I had not, either Villyen or myself would be dead, I am certain.”

The Tevinter beamed but it only churned his stomach.

“You're very welcome, Evallan.” So genuine- so content to be appreciated, no matter how minor. Trying to ignore it, he dotted his fingers with bitter-tasting paste and ingested sourly while Dorian snickered, perhaps considering this revenge for the hangover remedy.

“Let us move.” Evallan ordered and took to his feet, leaning upon Dorian when the man insisted with a tug at his arm.

It didn't take long for their surroundings to become familiar- though not in appearance exactly. The unrelenting, torturous presence that acted as their beacon grew with every step. On their first encounter it did little to sway him- he was at his best and with Lightbringer by his side. Now without her and susceptible to outside influences, he was finding it difficult to inhale.

He did not complain but Dorian still ceased their ascent to ask.

“Evallan- are you al-?”

“Keep moving.” He hastened between empty breathes, clenching Dorian's shoulder.

“I would if I were not certain you're about to pass out!” The Tevinter lowered, guiding him down too. He fell onto knees and supported himself with a hand on the man's arm, air stuttering through lungs. He felt pressure on his forehead and against his cheek and knew Dorian fussed but found it difficult to perceive.

“It's the energy up there- you have no defence against it.”

“We continue, or you leave me.” He managed to steady himself long enough to offer direction.

“Well I'm certainly not leaving you!”

“Then you must-”

Dorian comprehended- they either moved him quickly, or not at all. Returning without him would be pointless after his commitment to follow into the avalanche- so neither had a choice.

Bundling him close as they straightened, Dorian attempted to distract from the suffocating anxiety.

“Do you or Lightbringer know what happened there?”

He dizzyingly tried to recall- how had the Spirit put it?

“A traitor's death,” He explained in a slur. “Conspirators, most likely. Or executed as such.”

“You have reason to doubt?”

“No,” He had no impression either way- all Lightbringer had been able to sense was the nature of their deaths. “But many innocents have met such fate.”

By the time they squeezed themselves through the entrance to stagger passed the ritual circle, he could hardly hold onto a thought. The disturbed, charred etchings swam into view and stared as if the abyss lay beneath. Relenting, he buried his face into Dorian's cloak and remained there.

“Evallan?” The Tevinter pressed with an edge of hysteria but he had not the strength to reply.

He smothered his awareness into the scent of the man, clutching to that one comfort. Warm, earthy from scrambling around the Deep Roads- it almost made him laugh.

_You must truly, truly hate all this._

If he fell here, he thought, it would not be awful. Certainly there were worse ways to die, than in the arms of the man you admire above all else.

The next thing he was able to understand- leaning upon a a wall with the crash of a waterfall in his ears. Dorian appeared before him and he blearily realised they were on the other side of the ritual chamber- that sound was not a waterfall.

“Marcus will not be pleased.” Evallan managed to croak, pointing to where Dorian willed the earthen rune to obstruct and destroy the whole tainted cavern.

“ _To the void with Marcus!”_ Dorian spat, features contorting. “We'll say we were pursued!- It's not exactly wrong.”

He touched Evallan's arm, the hard edges around his eyes softening, voice cracked.

“Are you alright? _Please_ tell me you're alright- you stopped breathing and I was terrified you wouldn't start again!”

He forced himself to nod and Dorian gathered him once more. This was becoming habitual- he almost giggled. The Tevinter caught onto his amusement somehow, shooting him a grin.

“Oh, it's _all funny_ now we're alive and no one suffocated! I see how it is!”

He could not respond but asserted to himself with a feeling of satisfaction.

_More than simply capable- you are an asset._

_They are foolish not to see._

Consciousness eluded him, dancing around in flashes of amber and darkness. When he next heard a voice, it was Villyen's;

“ _They're here!- they're alive!”_ A new pair of hands wrestled with the ones already carrying him. “That blasted Templar said _'if he's worth his salt, he'll find his way back!'”_

_And so you ignored him and charged into the darkness- searching for me._

_No one can say you are not a Lavellan._

There was a relieved chuckle from Dorian- then a different voice- Elias Caladrius, was it?

“ _Maker- Dorian!”_ Overjoyed to reunite with his friend, their conversation muffled as the distance between them lengthened. “I couldn't believe it when you felled that Ogre but I believe it even less you're actually alive!”

“Oh, it was a nice stroll!” Dorian rang openly, all bravado. “The Deep Roads are so lovely this time of year- barely any stink of death!”

Willing himself to see through the nausea and the weakness, he perceived an incline upon which a small campsite was constructed. Half-hidden in a shambled structure, Fletch stood atop with bow drawn.

“Is that funny boy down there?” Evallan believed she spoke of Dorian. “Marcus owes me a void-damned drink!”

“Didn't think I'd make it back, did he?” The Tevinter called over.

“Nope!” Fletch snorted. _“And_ he said if you made it without Lavellan he'd throw you right where you came from!”

“I feel twice-blessed!” Dorian remarked, matching the dwarf's cheer.

He mustered everything he had left but could not keep himself awake. Unable to hold up his brother's dead weight, Villyen buckled and Evallan heard Dorian Pavus rush for them.

“It's alright!- I'm getting quite used to dragging him, anyway!”

\--

There was a stiff cot at his back and the canvas of a tent above. He could not say how long he slept. He overheard excitable talk from outside- Elias and Fletch, sometimes Villyen, who was less enthusiastic. Inside was a muddle of supplies and no other bed. Dorian sat with his back against the one Evallan rested on.

“You did not have to watch me.” He said groggily, not moving.

Dorian glanced his way.

“I was worried if you recovered in your sleep, Lightbringer might feel compelled to wander.”

He didn't argue, supposing he should be grateful.

Villyen barked something dismissive and swept inside a moment later, staff used casually as a walking stick. He brightened upon seeing his brother.

“How do you feel?” He approached, attempting to feel Evallan's forehead. He shook him away- perhaps childishly- he'd suffered enough concern over the last half-day to last a lifetime.

“I am fine. Do not trouble yourself any longer.”

Villyen peered at him, calculating.

“Your temperature is still a little high. I'm brewing you some tea.”

“I am _fine_ , Villyen.” He tried again.

“You should listen to your brother.” Dorian stood to aid searching through the supply-pile. “Even though you're not delirious, Evallan -”

A hollow clash of ironbark on rock shattered the lazy atmosphere.

Amrallan's old staff lay on the ground and Villyen stood over it, saucer-eyed shock evident on his face, Dorian Pavus his target. The man blinked obliviously but Evallan underwent a startling, ridiculously foolish revelation -

_My name!_

A name Villyen had not heard openly for over fifteen years. A name uttered witlessly now by a Magister's son from Tevinter. He appeared as bewildered and insulted as Evallan must have, the first time Dorian spoke it.

Ignorant to his mistake or not comprehending the gravity of it, Dorian Pavus merely leant to pick the staff.

“ _Do not touch it!”_ Villyen was shrill, face inflamed.

“I'm sorry?” Dorian backed away, eyeing the upset elf in confusion. “It's a lovely staff.”

The smaller Lavellan's face was grim as he swiped the object and practically embraced it.

“It was my brother's.” He informed rigidly, looking nowhere- not daring to look at his Eldest.

“Amrallan's?” The Tevinter appraised the staff with renewed awe.

“ _Don't say his name!”_ Villyen blurted, reddening again. “You defile it by saying it!”

He stormed out after a final perplexed, furious glance that needled through Evallan's skull.

It all happened so quick all he could do was sit, stunned, trying to quell the tremor in his fingers.

Dorian was not as perturbed, turning to him with a sheepish half-grin.

“Your brother still doesn't seem to like me.”

“You should not have used my first name in his presence. I should have warned you.” He explained so it would hopefully not repeat.

The other man studied him but for what, he couldn't say.

“Slipped your mind, did it?”

“I became accustomed to hearing it.” He had to admit aloud, fighting the discomfort of exposure.

“Most people seem to think I'm saying your name wrong,” Dorian mused, shaking his head. “Or that it's a nickname, to separate you from the other Lavellans, I suppose.”

“Only Villyen would recognise the name.” He wrung his hands, trying to puzzle how to excuse this circumstance to his brother.

“I don't understand- how can that be?” He sounded genuinely curious. Evallan supposed an answer was overdue.

“When I became Eldest, the Spirit erased my name from the clan's living memory. Only direct family were to remember, or to know it- my mother, my brothers, or any family I build in my future...”

He could see cogs spinning in Dorian's mind, brushing the facial hair at his chin tensely.

“So when I use your name...?” He still hesitated to say it- and Evallan found it difficult to speak it plain.

“It implies a much greater level of intimacy than is appropriate.”

Dorian tore his sights away and paused there, hand stuck to his chin, face flushed.

“I- see, and...” Blustering somewhat as he recomposed. “And _what_ is the purpose of this...formality?”

“She embodies Faith, I embody her. It is an acknowledgement of such.”

The Tevinter's anxious digits scratched at his chin and slowly lowered, colour normalising.

“Well- I...hope I haven't offended either of you too terribly.”

“We are not.” In truth he hardly noticed after the first time- if he felt shame, it was towards himself for feeling none.

“But I imagine Villyen is...” He stole a pensive look at the exit, babbling. “I should talk to him- explain where I heard it- that you didn't.... _I should explain where I heard it.”_

“You do not have to do that.” Evallan assured, not wanting Dorian to make himself responsible.

“I'm not going to leave him with with whatever awful impression he has, Evallan!” He was already striding after Villyen.

“You may only worsen things-” Evallan beseeched but he did not waver.

“I'm _going_ to at least apologise!”

“Dorian...” There was no use. Dorian Pavus was gone in a wave of tent-canvas.

\--

Minutes later the Magister's son from Tevinter drifted through the entrance and became statuesque, eyes distant and expression unreadable. It signified nothing good- Evallan perceived that much.

Their eyes locked and he was finally able to discern the emotion there- confusion and pain, simple and obvious once Evallan understood it.

The first image his mind conjured was of the birthright concealed in his robes. A miserable chill flooded his insides, hands wretchedly trembling once more.

Dorian's lips parted and seemed to hesitate.

The words that left him were more baffling than anything Evallan could have predicted.

“Why did you never tell me of your father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me last chapter: try to guess what this obvious set up is for  
> me this chapter: lol doesn't matter, perspective change : )
> 
> also yes I totally bastardised the Elgar'nan story for the sake of my gay narrative and my only defense is if the games can retcon canon for the sake of narrative on every release, I can do it to be gay.


	9. Break the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 4) Dorian's experience in The Deep Roads continues to be defined by awkward conversation and absurd horror.

Leaving the tent and Evallan behind, Dorian made a beeline for the campfire where the shorter elf brooded. His mind chewed on countless thoughts and considerations, each as startling and puzzling as the last- but he had to focus.

_One incomprehensible Dalish behaviour at a time!_

Indeed this expedition flooded him with those- he practically drowned. The most important right now- the issue of Evallan's name- if only to erase whatever image his brother conjured from Dorian's blasted carelessness!

At least no one else was present- Fletch had chosen to act as guard, lazily wandering the perimeter. Elias was nowhere to be seen so had to have crawled into his own shelter. It was just the small Dalish, posture as if shouldering the world, gnawing into a indistinguishable leg of meat.

He was unsurprised by the lack of acknowledgement at his approach, Villyen not breaking from his meal. This _was_ after all Evallan's blood-brother.

“First Lavellan?” He congratulated himself for remembering the title.

Villyen glanced, then craned his head around to burp at the air and not in his face.

“Fresh meat?” Villyen shook the oddly-shaped haunch at him.

“Ah, I'm not certain...” He snickered, feeling awkward. “Do I want to ask what it is?”

“That depends,” Villyen shrugged. “How do you feel about reptile?”

“In my _food?_ Not brilliantly.”

The elf rolled his shoulders and continued ripping into tough flesh. Dorian fidgeted with the creases in his attire and watched a point somewhere beyond Villyen's head.

“Ah, I would like to apologise...” He began, unsure. “And to explain, if you will allow me.”

The First Lavellan straightened from his frenzied hunch, meat-leg looser in his grasp, chilling eyes expectant. Though less intimidating than Evallan the similarities were profound- if it were a more friendly exchange he would have found their bond admirable.

“A spirit happened to tell me your brother's name in the Fade,” He relayed, trying to match Villyen's seriousness. “Somehow, some spirit heard his name, and I happened to get it out of them- not intentionally, mind you. I know that may be hard to believe-”

“No,” Villyen said promptly, relief palpable. “That's more believable than him giving it to you.”

He felt a pang deep inside himself and squashed it.

“You're right about that- your brother isn't exactly a giver.” He jested casually.

“And so...” Villyen abandoned the reptile-chunk, ignoring or not catching onto the joke. “You found something that didn't belong to you...and you're just going about using it, and he's _letting you?_ ”

The pang returned, deeper and fiercer.

_I'm not the only one with something that doesn't belong to me!_

It would be madness to say such. Hoping the complexity of his emotion wasn't apparent, he hastened to think of a response.

“Well he was quite distressed the first time! I think he simply doesn't notice any longer.”

“You shame him when you speak it.” His voice was thicker now, closer to his brother's immovable winter. “I can't remember the last time I said it out loud, and I'm his _brother._ What are _you?”_

Every intelligent thought he may have been capable of abandoned him.

_That's actually a very good question._

He imagined he was the perfect picture of a clueless shem to the First. The elf went on while coldly squinting at Dorian's face. It terrified him to consider what he might perceive- Dorian had no restraint over his features and no idea what they were doing.

“I'll answer for you- you're another daft shem from Tevinter, taking something you have no right to, from someone who doesn't have the power or patience to stop you shaming them.”

Dorian's mouth animated, searching for a retort- however empty.

“Just because our people have a history-”

“ _History?!”_ Villyen cackled in disbelief and Dorian knew he'd misspoke. “History for _you,_ maybe! Not for us, not for our family. But no fade-spirit ever enlightened you on _that,_ did it?”

“What are you talking about?” All the moisture evaporated from his tongue but he willed it to move.

“Of course you wouldn't know!” The young elf chuckled wryly. “He didn't tell you his name, so why would he tell you _that?”_

_You're right, damn it!- He doesn't really tell me anything!_

This time his chords were petrified but Villyen rambled on, face red and hands balling.

“You never wondered why our father wasn't with us when we arrived at the Circle, did you? Why would you! You probably thought it was the Blight, didn't you? It never occurred to you maybe he'd been dead a long time? That maybe it was people like _you?_ _There's_ your history for you, _shemlen!”_

“What are you saying?” He struggled to raise his voice.

“I was too young when it happened- but I made Amrallan tell me when I was older- he was there,” He inhaled with a hiss. “Slavers that wanted to sell my brother off to _your_ people, people who figured they had some use for a magically-talented Dalish child. My father died making sure that didn't happen. Amrallan came back, and he didn't.”

Dorian felt as though someone smacked him across the head- words failed him.

“He never told me.” He could only squeak.

“Of course he didn't!- Why would he tell _you_ anything!?” Villyen sneered while shoving onto his feet and marching off, likely tired of what he considered to be shem ignorance.

Very slowly, Dorian bent until he sat by the campfire, dumbstruck.

_'You found something that didn't belong to you.'_

_'Why would he tell_ you _anything?'_

 _'I'm his brother- what are_ you?'

Admittedly he couldn't say what they were- nothing, he supposed. Yet he couldn't accept it, couldn't fathom it. He might have before- might have even admonished himself for thinking otherwise. But now he knew something he was convinced no one else did.

Keeper Lavellan was wearing the Pavus birthright.

He replayed the moment of discovery to himself as he had a dozen times- meticulously, painfully.

Andraste herself must have blessed his Fade-Step, for them to careen and tumble unharmed- but in an unceremonious pile. Immediately he'd sought to right himself but his arm was caught by something. He didn't even question it, merely aimed to disentangle.

After the third frustrated yank he realised this _thing_ \- a chain- was attached to Evallan.

Certainly he'd never known the Keeper to decorate himself in anything other than his circlet but it wasn't intrigue that forced his hand. He would have left it undisturbed, except the only way to remove it was if he removed it from the elf.

Delicately but with much cursing, he'd unleashed the hidden trinket and was dizzied worse than if struck by Lightbringer's flash.

Glowing in the dim light- his birthright, a decade missing.

He recalled thinking, over and over-

 _What is_ this? _What is_ this? _What in_ all of Thedas is this?!

The connections between his brain and eyes processed sluggishly- it _was_ his amulet, there was no doubt. Yet it had been tampered with over the years- repaired, perhaps? The engravings felt uneven or thinned in places- something that would be avoidable if the craftsman had proper tools and knowledge. Which Evallan of course had not.

All Evallan had was whatever supplies he might have been able to steal away -

\- and Lightbringer.

Icy fingers needled into his heart as he beheld the silverite links holding the shambled thing together, reflecting amber much differently than the gold it protected.

_What do I do with this bloody thing?!_

Shock wearing off, a voice whispered- _take it!_ It was _his,_ after all! That Evallan concealed this from him so long- he hardly owed him an explanation! He could swipe it now, without discussion, and that would be the end of it!

But as the birthright swung in his grasp and those icy fingers in his heart tightened- he knew he couldn't reclaim the amulet this way.

The object no longer felt like something of his- or looked it. To someone else, superficially, perhaps they would disagree. To himself, Evallan's fingerprints smothered the thing- ten years worth of toiling, fighting, mending- ten years of catastrophe and anguish and hope glared back at him.

If he took it now- it would not only humiliate the elf. To think he'd lost it in the Deep Roads would destroy him, Dorian recognised that. Though why he'd carried it for a decade, why he'd never mentioned it to Dorian...he had no answers.

Then Evallan stirred. Unthinkingly, he'd looped the amulet around the Keeper's neck and made an effort to neaten the dishevelled layers. Over the next hours he'd skirted around the subject but it only seemed to vex the elf. Suspicious of Dorian's behaviour but not truly understanding the cause, or encasing himself in comfortable denial.

Other things made sense in hindsight- the night of Evallan's Harrowing, he'd probably had to stash the amulet somewhere. When he awoke with fever, it was gone and he'd panicked- maybe he'd even considered admitting it to Dorian right then, in the midst of his delirium.

The insistence no one touch him- a convenient excuse. Everyone knew the older Lavellans were standoffish. Only Evallan was so frigid that too much contact during a spar pushed him to hysterics. Of course with something to hide, it made perfect sense- Dorian had been close that time.

_You bloody idiot!_

He sulked at the ground.

_What if I had found it then?!_

_And what if I were someone else- someone that might not understand?!_

_What if I'd hurt you? What if I'd left you in that cavern to die?_

_It's pathetically sentimental of you, Evallan!_

And it was pathetically sentimental of Dorian to sit in the dirt lamenting the Keeper's bizarre decision making, when by all accounts he should be enraged. He'd even gone so far as to shield it from Villyen's notice when he'd been incapable of supporting his brother. He couldn't help being terrified for Evallan- that whoever discovered it next would be less sympathetic.

_Maybe it's foolish- but I think I understand._

_I didn't mean to pick up your name, either._

_Yet I've carried it just as long._

_And flaunt it far more shamelessly!_

_I even_ like _it, you know? I admit it!_

_I like having something I shouldn't! I like no one else realising!_

_I like feeling that I have a part of you no one else can have!_

In a decisive motion he was upright and barrelling towards Evallan's tent, full of rage and incredulity and tentative affection. Certainty possessed him up until the point canvas slid closed and he actually faced the Keeper.

The elf hadn't moved from his bed and the apprehension brimming from his eyes had increased- visibly fighting to keep features and hands lax. This strung a chord in Dorian- he remembered fishing the birthright from the man's robes, recalled his decision not to confront him.

How could he do so without humiliating him- without it becoming a point of contention between them?

Realising Evallan waited with bated breathe, he threw out the first question that came to mind.

“Why did you never tell me of your father?”

There was a long, baffled pause, during which Dorian at least saw the tension dissipate from Evallan's posture.

“ _What?”_ He said finally- almost whispering but gaining strength. “Why would I tell you of my father?”

“Well- we spoke of mine!” He willed himself not to trip over the words, dismayed by the high level of emotion pressing on each. “You've had opportunity- yet you never mentioned yours died fighting slavers?!”

“Why would I tell you such a thing?” Evallan's brow knit, his usual composure returning. “And of someone I had not thought of in years? I barely recall him- Villyen only recalls his absence. I suppose sometimes that is worse.”

“It might have put some things into context, at least!- You've been avoiding it!” He flared but wilted just as quickly. _“Maker,_ Evallan...Aren't we friends? I thought we were.”

A stupid, juvenile question- but he had to ask.

“We are friends.” Evallan didn't hesitate.

Dorian was as relieved by this admittance as he was aggravated. He gestured frantically, mouth blathering without him.

“ _Then why don't you tell me a bloody thing?!_ Why do I learn everything about you through gossip- or your family- or-” He bit his tongue, restraining it from more clumsiness.

Evallan's eyes narrowed into a suspicion that melted, becoming fear once more. Dorian caught movement and saw the elf had begun twisting his hands as he'd done earlier.

“Is there something I am obliged to tell you, Dorian Pavus?” He mumbled- barely audible, posture as if bracing for a smack.

Regret washed over Dorian, bowing his head in a sigh.

_How do I tell you this without you running into the Deep Roads never to be seen again?!_

“There are...some things I wish you _would_ tell me, Evallan. Whether or not you think you have to.” That would have to do- more specific and the elf would root him out- and Dorian was sure the only reason he hadn't was desperate optimism.

Indeed Evallan didn't appear to know what to make of this, observing almost sadly for a time before another mumble fought to surface.

“We are simply different. I am sorry.”

“ _Or maybe!-_ ” Dorian retorted with a wild laugh, unable to suppress himself. “ _Maybe-_ you're just a coward!”

Evallan stared at his hands, mute. A whirl of indignation and misery sickened Dorian, grinding out speech.

“Aren't you going to _say anything_ to me!?”

Though the Keeper met his gaze, he remained wordless- but his eyes were worn, colour still off and mouth stony. It occurred to Dorian all he was accomplishing was tormenting the fool- and in turn, frustrating himself.

“Fine!” He yielded, stiff. “Fine. I'm sorry! Just rest, alright? I think...that little encounter with Despair has set me off, or something.”

He didn't look at Evallan again but felt the elf's eyes on his back as he fled.

As much as he wanted to hold onto indignation he knew he couldn't truly abandon Evallan- there was still a chance Lightbringer would instinctively wrangle control as he slept. Discomforted by the whole event, he plopped himself down by the tent entrance and brooded into the dark.

_Is this all some elaborate joke?_

_Does he even_ realise _it's mine?_

_Maybe he does- but it still has no relevance to me?_

_Damn you, Evallan! Every time I think I understand you -_

_\- Elias was right about one thing – I really don't know how you think!_

He couldn't say how long he ailed over his thoughts before the scuff of feet signalled someone behind him.

“Going to apologise, are you?” Dorian asked without turning to view the Keeper. The length of his shadow and cold aura would have identified Evallan regardless of being the single occupant of the tent.

Soles dusted the ground a few more steps and Dorian noticed 'Evallan' had forgotten his footwear. Looking up confirmed his assumption- eyes were luminous and a faint glow emitted from his Vallaslin.

“Oh, hello there, Lightbringer.” He greeted offhandedly.

'Evallan' stared obliviously into space and Dorian wondered how much the spirit could perceive of her environment- she didn't seem to perceive _him,_ at least. Attending to her own task, she willed the vessel onto knees, sudden and heavy. Hands lifted and frost wrapped around each individual appendage before they began inscribing something into rock. He guessed the ice was to prevent physical harm but the makeshift armour whittled down easily. He imagined Evallan sustained damage whether or not the spirit remembered to cast.

What the spirit carved was nothing legible- it probably appeared differently in the Fade. If she couldn't judge her surroundings, nor could she judge the force behind her writing. In the real world, they were graced with only awkward etchings, like someone with a hand-tremor trying to count the days.

“Well we're becoming quite familiar, aren't we?” Dorian remarked, indulging in the lunacy. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've taken a shine to me...Shine, see? Because you're...” He gestured vaguely to the light-show accompanying her presence.

Both Lightbringer and Evallan gave no response. They wrote.

“I must warn you,” Dorian continued to banter dramatically- to no one. “I am _exclusively_ attracted to men. If you want something from me, you'll have to convince your chosen to stop being a tit.”

This suggestion earned still nothing and Dorian had to relent with a sigh, somewhat bemused.

“You really can't hear me, can you?”

She either could not hear, could not be derailed from her task, or was incapable of simple dialogue. Deciding this was enough petty fun at the Keeper's expense, he stretched his arm to hold Evallan's shoulder.

The combination of spirit and mage reacted much as they had the previous night; head snapped around, eyes fluttered in genuine shock, radiance seeping away. There was only one difference- Evallan had fallen unconscious immediately last time. On this occasion there was a glimmer of awareness- just a glimmer.

Dorian couldn't read the emotion there but he understood Evallan struggled to grasp for speech- briefly. A second later the life had gone from him and he crumbled. If it weren't for Dorian's placement, he would have met rock head-first. Instead the Keeper fell practically into his lap.

“Yes, hello, Evallan- goodnight.” He cooed despite his exasperation, pulling him close.

For a while Dorian cradled him, debating how strange it would appear if someone witnessed them in such a tangle. Ultimately he decided it best to return him to the cot- but not before pressing a hand against the Keeper's chest and laughing at the subtle indent.

He felt almost disappointed for never noticing the amulet- but then, why would he? Why would anyone expect the elf to have such a thing? If he had ever felt it, of course he couldn't guess the source. He doubted anyone else could either.

“You are making this quite a habit, you know.” He chided lightly while transporting Evallan back to his resting place. “Who drags you around when I'm not here, hm? Fletch is too short.”

Marcus, he supposed- which aggravated him to think about.

“Try not to go for another walk, yes?” He settled next to the cot, leaning to use Evallan's shoulder as a pillow. Not only was it the closest thing to a comfortable sleeping position while on the ground, but he hoped it was enough to dissuade Lightbringer.

Exhaustion drew him into restless sleep, always dimly aware of his surroundings.

\--

“Dorian,” Evallan roused him with a note of concern. “You have not slept correctly.”

He blinked away the dregs of whatever shallow rest he'd accomplished until the Keeper's face was evident, mouth pulled in dismay. From outside the tent Dorian could hear shuffling movement and the occasional bawdy remark from Fletch- they were already packing.

“It's alright- I'm fine!” He righted himself, forcing a confident grin. “Ready and eager, in fact!”

The elf viewed him sceptically but didn't counter. As worried as he may or may not be, they still had a mission to accomplish- which had been somewhat delayed by their impromptu tour of the lower levels.

Granted he was still half-asleep but he _did_ make himself eager. He assisted in packing as well as he could- often advised by Evallan or Fletch. One tent and a few supplies would remain, as directed by the Keeper, who supposed it was worthwhile to have a sentry point between the Deep Roads exit and their main camp.

Afterwards the four gathered for a meal before setting off. It was much the same as before- preserved meat, bread, no apples this time. Villyen returned from somewhere with another fresh kill but whereas Fletch and Evallan were happy to dig in, both Tevinter mages were satisfied with their rations.

Of course this would not go unnoticed.

“You and funny boy got a problem with real food?” Fletch aimed to rile Elias, grinning broadly with specks of reptile on her cheek.

“Uhh...” His fellow mage examined the charred, warped flesh with disdain. “I think I'm alright with whatever this is, right Dorian?” He chuckled while holding up one of the pathetic morsels.

“I have to agree,” Dorian snorted in return. “It might not be filling but at least I have a general awareness of where it's been!”

“Do you?” Evallan offered suddenly, not looking up from his own haunch.

“What? What do you mean?” He smiled wryly, not liking the direction of that statement.

“You _really_ think all the meat we get at the towers are just pig and cow and things?” It was Villyen who answered, smirking. “We're in a Blight! Most farmlands are corrupted or razed to the ground- but you just assume that's definitely cow?”

“Ohhh no.” Dorian sighed, bowing his head. “Oh I don't like _that_ one bit.”

Elias was more quiet about this revelation but eyed his own meal with newfound concern.

The Dalish brothers glanced at each other and began laughing. It went without saying Evallan was more than subdued- Villyen's unrestrained cackles almost muffled him wholly. It was still a pleasant surprise to see how easily the sound escaped when among family.

“Maker's breathe- it's not that funny!” Dorian chuckled. “I don't even know how you chew _any_ of this! Do the Dalish sharpen their bloody teeth!?”

“No,” Evallan answered with an inquisitive tilt of the head. “But perhaps we should. That would be quite fearsome.”

“Like the shem isn't already terrified!” Villyen added with more chortles that his brother was swift to join in.

_Well, they have you there, Dorian Pavus!_

Soon they started on the short trek towards camp- able to see the torches from their position. At this point they spoke little and Evallan drifted on with his brother- Dorian didn't attempt to catch up. He could hear scraps of conversation and thought he'd leave them to it. He noted whereas Evallan spoke more in Dalish than not, his sibling struggled. Though he couldn't tell from their distance how Evallan coped with this, he was sure the Keeper appreciated time alone to re-familiarise Villyen with his native tongue.

Passing the camp guards, Elias and Villyen regrouped with the mages, Fletch with the Wardens. Dorian wavered, smiling awkwardly at Evallan.

“I think Marcus may have noticed me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Even if he has,” Evallan began to state, sounding slightly annoyed. “After seeing what you are capable of, he would be a fool to turn you away.”

“Even so...” He fidgeted with the borrowed Templar cloak. “I'll keep this for now. Maybe he won't look twice and will think me dead in a thaig somewhere.”

“We shall see.” He led Dorian through the sprawl of people, all set on their own duties. Marcus and his crew of Templars had already left and were gathered at the lowest slope where Evallan had summoned a wall of ice the previous day. Marcus beckoned the elf with a severe stare and violent hand motion- not seeming to detect the Tevinter mage still lurking.

“About time!” He barked, audibly irritated. “Been waiting for you to come dispel this!” He knocked a fist against the frozen barrier.

“I am here.” Evallan almost-snarled, flitting his hand towards the wall. “Move, it will be done.”

The Templars sidled to give the Keeper room and for just a moment, Dorian was certain Marcus had dismissed him- of course he could not be so fortunate.

“Wait a second- _fairy!”_ He bellowed, an accusatory finger jabbed at Dorian. “You _really_ think you could slink back up here like I didn't _just_ fucking see you in that tunnel?! Get back to the fucking mages!”

His heart stuttered the second he heard _'fairy!'_ and he was striding meekly away before the Templar launched into his tangent. Marcus was not a man he greatly desired the attention of.

Fingers coiled around his arm- nearly bruising in their grip.

It was Evallan, wintery eyes challenging as he snapped at Marcus.

“Did you not see him fell an Ogre- _practically on his own!?”_

The Templar, already turning, turned again. His face was more than unimpressed, scars tight around his cheeks as he puffed at the duo.

“Listen, Lavellan,” He relayed sardonically. “If I need _another_ uppity mage with a magic sword to kill Darkspawn and not do a fucking thing I say, I'll let you know.”

Evallan's features were reddening and his clutch not loosening- not even briefly, if anything he gripped harder. Not wanting to be yet another source of friction between the two, Dorian tore away with an apologetic glance and made to flee.

He was interrupted a second time- Marcus ordering, filled with indignation;

“ _And give him back that blighted cloak!_ Should've noticed you when I saw how the shitting thing drags!”

Facing the Templars and Evallan once more he stood sheepishly and fumbled with the latch on the blasted cloak. By the time his nervous fingers triumphed over the damn thing Evallan was before him with a hand limply awaiting its burden.

He held cloth without giving- perusing Evallan's expression with a rapidly growing unease. Though the Keeper leashed his emotions, he couldn't hide the bitterness from Dorian- the way his eyes screamed despair while saying nothing, like a beaten dog.

_He hates this thing!_

_He hates that they stamp him with their symbol- like he's_ theirs _!_

Admittedly he was unsure what he intended when he backed from Evallan and lifted the cloak high, earning a few perplexed blinks from the elf and an impatient squint from Marcus. Lofting a brow at them and the collection of Templars he stood in full view of, he tossed the fabric so it spun around his arm and released a handful of embers.

They consumed that blazing Chantry sun in real magical fire within seconds, ashes bursting to dance around the two like snow. All the while he didn't allow his attention to divert from the Keeper- as much to steel himself for this rebelliousness as it was to absorb his reaction.

He'd built an enchanted sword, felled an Ogre single-handedly, moved a mountain and carried the man through Despair. Yet the only act to cut through the elf's impenetrable blizzard, exposing raw emotion underneath, was to destroy the symbol that demanded his servitude.

He regarded Dorian in complete awe- eyes dumbstruck and wide, lips parted but rendered speechless, hand still suspended to receive something that had been obliterated.

In a strange way- he felt seen- truly seen by the Keeper, for the first time.

It left him so giddy that a broad grin captured his features and when he looked beyond Evallan's shoulder to spy Marcus glowering, he only laughed in sincere joy. Oh he would pay for that!- He could tell from the way the man's eyes almost bulged from his skull- but he hardly cared!

“ _Oops!”_ He exclaimed, jovial, waving empty hands. “Magic is just _so_ dangerous and unpredictable, you know!”

The Templar was as speechless as Evallan- apparently not predicting Dorian would act out so blatantly. More than satisfied, he retreated before Marcus could find his sense and decide to punish the rowdy Tevinter right there and then.

Apparently others witnessed the display- when he submitted to his place with the mages, Elias commented, smirking ruefully;

“Marcus will get you for that, you know.”

“Oh, what's he going to do!” Dorian waved it away, refusing to allow regret to set in.”Lavellan flouts their rules and authority often enough- all I did was burn a cloak.”

“Lavellan has a treaty protecting him- _and_ a magic sword no one knows how to replicate.”

“Yes, yes!” He brandished his hands in more dismissal. “He has a magic sword and he's killed _ever so many_ Darkspawn!-”

“And he _still_ won't just go around destroying Chantry symbols!” Elias pointed out, frowning. “Which _you_ just did- in front of _everyone!”_

When Elias put it like that- Dorian realised why Evallan had been so shocked by his gall. He'd practically declared a one-man war on the Chantry- unintentional as it was!

“Well, kaffas.” He remarked, rubbing his chin.

“Yeah, _shit!”_ Elias chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “So _maybe_ you lay low for the rest of this expedition? Do you think you can handle that?”

Dorian gazed off to where he could see Evallan's ruler-straight back- a few hand motions were banishing the frosty blockade. It melted into almost-nothing, leaving behind a perimeter of slush.

“I promise I'll try.”

Elias rolled his eyes but said no more.

The Wardens scouted ahead while the rest of their force shuffled into place, Dorian feeling quietly demoralised as he filed in with the other mages at the back row. He couldn't hear any of the exchanges between Wardens, Marcus and Evallan from this position- though the elf was effortless to find. With Lightbringer unsheathed he was a living beacon and paced the length of the dematerialised wall, visibly restless.

In time the Warden scouts returned, headed by Fletch. Something was relayed and the Templar Commander addressed the crowd.

“It's like we thought- bastards have holed themselves up!- But that fucker knows any further back and it'll be in the Legion's mouth!” Dorian surmised _'that fucker'_ had been designated to the Emissary.

“We take it down here- cripple it's forces and burn that blighted nest to the ground when we're done! There's too many unmapped paths in this thaig and we can't waste more shitting time fucking around with runes- fucker knows we're coming! So we're dividing our forces!

Wardens with me and Lance- we're ploughing _that shitting fucker_ into the ground! The rest of you are under Bauer's command- you're forming a line and _holding_ it! Nothing gets passed the blighting line! Is that understood?!”

The responsive cheer from his recruits was more than apprehensive- but it satisfied the Templar.

Dorian had slim hope by the man's phrasing that Evallan would be situated on their side- but apparently the exclusion of the Keeper was because it went without saying. Evallan was tasked to support Marcus and the Wardens as they marched into the Emissary's clutches.

He observed Lightbringer's sheen decrease as the group progressed, only half-listening to what this Bauer had to say.

“There's a ridge just on the other side of where the barrier was,” The round-faced Templar explained far more level-headedly than Marcus. “We want mages positioned there with half our archers- the other half are going to cover our line. Mages- keep an eye on these archers! We're all in a buddy system, see? The archers have the line, the line has the Wardens, you have the archers! That's three walls of defence- keep them tight!”

_A lot of good I'll do there, without a blighting staff._

Dorian wouldn't vocalise the complaint- though more reasonable than Marcus, he doubted this Bauer fellow would risk his commander's scorn by reassigning Dorian. After all he could still cast- simply not as often or efficiently. This hardly mattered since he was expected to offer nothing but projectiles and there were more than enough mages to make up for his pace.

The only thing truly hurt in this arrangement was his pride- significant only to him.

He plopped himself on the ridge between Elias and Villyen, legs dangling, fumbling with his useless weapon. From there he spectated as the blue of the Wardens rushed the arch to confront the first sparse wave of Darkspawn, Lightbringer dancing along their fringes, never in one place.

Successfully baited, they lured the creatures into the open so mages and archers could hurl arrows and elements. This lure pulled on that rabid surge of movement until Bauer's warriors were able to reinforce their attack without gravitating from their sight, creating a fortress of bodies as intended.

All the while Dorian sat and watched- Elias soon criticised.

“Aren't you going to do _anything?”_

“Why bother?!” He griped openly. “Do you know how long it's been since I've cast at long range? We didn't _all_ spend the last ten years waking up in the morning with the thought _'I'm going to make sure I can throw fire very accurately, just in case someone let's me do something!_ ”

“You're right,” Elias joked in turn. “Some of us woke up one morning and decided, for no reason, to learn swordplay, even though no one asked or wanted them to.”

He snorted at that, sincerely tickled.

“Alright, but my point stands! I'm more liable to hit the blighting shield wall than any Darkspawn.”

“Well, then at least make it easier for me- _I_ won't hit anyone.”

Elias motioned with his hand and comprehending that he meant Dorian to lend his will, he reached out and held it unthinkingly.

“Um...You can stand up and hold my shoulder or something, you know, we're not children...” The other mage noted, sounding nonplussed.

“Oh- uh- right,” He hastened to his feet, chuckling. “I'm sorry, I'm accustomed to-”

Remembering it was Evallan's hand he'd grown _'accustomed to'_ , his mouth snapped shut and his face warmed.

“Accustomed to _what?”_ His friend perked a brow at him, grinning.

“Nothing!” He spluttered, cupping the other mage's shoulder.

“Were you holding Lavell-”

“ _Shut up!”_ Dorian shook his friend with one hand and pointed at the battlefield with the other. _“Nevermind what I've been holding!_ \- Cast your bloody spells!”

He dared not look at Villyen during this exchange but prayed to the gods it escaped him.

Elias resumed launching spirals of flame with honed precision and fewer pauses in between- Dorian had to admit, as much as he teased, his friend _was_ a formidable mage. At least he could feel of _some_ use by aiding his assault.

Separating into defensive groups soon proved necessary. As expected, other enemies trickled from the sidelong passages and were needled by arrows or scorched by fire- a spire of ice if Villyen caught them first. Anything that avoided those fates smashed into an impenetrable shield wall that instantly smashed back.

Beyond that obstruction and at the peak of the chaos was Lightbringer, a stream of Warden uniforms behind and somewhere in that mess, Marcus. Like a brilliantly-pointed arrow they sought to pierce the centre of the amassing Darkspawn, crazed as they fought to guard their Emissary.

It was difficult to make out exactly what was occurring- who might be injured, or if there were more Darkspawn out of his view and beneath the arch. So far their strategy was successful, that much he could discern.

_Maybe this will be over quickly- and we can vacate these blighted roads._

Evidently this was asking too much.

“There's something incoming.” Villyen alerted. “Something...strange- _not good!”_

Initially Dorian thought he meant it was incoming _for them_ \- from the shrill panic in the elf's voice. Scanning the battlefield, he discovered the cause of Villyen's alarm- there was no missing the _thing._

A bulky shape but only a little larger than a man; it's silhouette curiously deformed, legs bent backwards, torso hunched, a vaguely bestial head- something between a Blight Wolf and a person. This alone wouldn't be that intimidating- it was the attachments on the thing's arms, the frightening way it moved.

The beast sprang for metres- not just forwards but upwards, a gigantic flea that out-bounced any arrow or spell targeting it. Not only was it careening effortlessly passed every line of defence but it's landing was fatal. Similar to the Ogre they had confronted, this aberration had chains fastened to its upper limbs- lengthy enough to clear ten metres. If that was not already absurd in its unfairness, these weapons were enchanted- storm trapped by metal.

Each time they lashed the ground, tremors erupted and lightning snapped. The first archers mercilessly whipped by these extensions had not time to die screaming- though Dorian was sure they would have. The electric current seized them in place while metal- and then teeth- fractured their bodies and on it hopped. A murderous nightmare of a rabbit.

“ _Fuck!”_ Elias was also- understandably- a little shrill. “It's too fast! It's too- _I can't account for that wild fucking way it's moving!”_

Neither could anyone else- archer or mage- and that mangled form was propelling itself right for Bauer's last line of defence. If it broke through and made it to the Wardens- Dorian couldn't even imagine the carnage.

“It's going to cut through them like butter!” He spat and straightened, swiping his weapon from its belt. The blade immediately burned.

“Dorian-?” Elias barely inquired before he'd decided.

“ _I_ can stop it- but not from here!” He made to step off the ledge. _“Don't_ try to stop me!”

“I'm not going to!” Yet Elias snatched his arm, face determined. “I'm coming _with_ you!”

“Elias, you shouldn't-” The last thing Dorian wanted was to endanger his friend.

“You took down that Ogre with Lavellan!” His grip tightened, features severe. “I'll cover you down there- and _we'll_ take down _this blighted thing!”_

“And I'll support your charge from here.” Villyen spoke from beside them, expression just as intense. There wasn't time to feel humbled and surprised by that- it gave him an idea.

“Villyen!- You must know a lot of wards, similar to your brothers?”

The elf nodded, gravely serious.

“I need to be a bigger target!- Anything that might make me seem more interesting than the Wardens!”

“I can do it.” Fingers increased their pressure around his deceased brother's staff and Dorian found he had to remark;

“He's proud of you, you know- the Keeper. I can tell.”

The First Lavellan flushed at that, responding in typical Lavellan fashion.

“Shut up and go kill that thing, 'Vint!”

The closest thing to a plan laid out before them, Dorian barrelled down the slope with Elias hot at his heels. Quite literally- between his flame-touched blade and the other mage's proficiency with fire, they burned a trail through any straggling Darkspawn.

Admittedly he was learning to become invigorated by the reek of incinerated flesh- so far it was a sign he was winning!

By the time the creature was directly in their view so was the line of warriors- and Bauer. He'd noticed the danger and sought to cut the beast off, charging forward with most of his body obscured by a blood-spattered shield.

They couldn't reach in time to give aid but fortunately he was better prepared than the archers- chains rebounded and with a jerk he upset the creature's equilibrium, sending it flying over their heads. He wasn't unharmed- the elemental shock of it's attack threw him. The two mages were at his side in seconds, helping right his posture.

“ _Pavus?”_ He groaned.

“ _We can't let that blighted thing break the line!”_ Dorian jostled the man by his armour.

Bauer's eyes flickered in confusion, then narrowed as clarity returned.

“ _Right!-_ It's you and me on this, Pavus!” He pointed out their target with his sword- lurching towards them, extensions dragging. “We lure it away!- _Whatever happens, the line stands!”_

Together they flanked but did not attack- merely lunging enough to urge their foe on before manoeuvring behind. Coaxing it away from the main force was the goal and Dorian could tell Villyen sensed as much. The ward was not Lightbringer's by any stretch but the new wave of confidence was recognisable as a Lavellan technique. At a distance, Elias sprinkled the ground near their foe with embers- recognising the movements as too sporadic to lay a fatal blow, instead he'd make the thing dance for it's dinner.

Still their plan was not executed flawlessly- enraged and shrieking from all these distractions, the monster was still coaxed by a a beckoning that led it to the blockade of warriors. Meanwhile Dorian's and Bauer's efforts to attract their target was attracting everything _but_ their target. Darkspawn that occasionally crept from passages to join their fellows now had more interest in _them_ than anything else.

He was forced to whirl upon these new enemies, frantically slicing anything within reach and going so far as to punch whatever intruded on his view of the line. Villyen had made good on his promise- he was so swarmed he could no longer sight Bauer or Elias.

Yet none of the surrounding assailants perturbed him- they were nothing compared to the one-elf wolf-pack he was accustomed to deflecting! If anything he felt more than prepared for such an onslaught. What made him panic was knowing that beast hadn't fallen on the bait.

_I need to be an even bigger target!_

_I need to seem like the biggest- most dangerous thing here!_

He'd never utilised the necromancy branch in such a way but saw no reason why it couldn't be- with a few adjustments to his cast. Perhaps necessity in the spur of the moment was not ideal for an experiment- but what choice did he have?

Ploughing through the Darkspawn hanging off him, he extended hands and shouted familiar words in his rarely-utilised mother tongue- leaving out a few parts, adding something that would not usually be added..

_I need the illusion- without the horror._

_I don't want you to flee or freeze- I want you to follow!_

The air around him quivered until those vibrations took shape, tall shadows sprouted from his feet into gnarled figures. When he clenched his fists they roared with the voice of a vengeful god and the Darkspawn went wild, pouncing upon him in new frenzy.

He batted them away like vermin. Arms swung automatically, his blade dislodged a jaw like a toy, his elbow sent another reeling.

“ _That's right!”_ He taunted along with the ghastly chorus, conducting as he ran and stabbed, knowing he had one thing to accomplish. _“I'm the biggest, fiercest thing here and I'll kill every one of you if something doesn't stop me!”_

Sparking metal cleaved through the Darkspawn in front of him, inches from his boots.

“ _Ha-ha!”_ He taunted, victorious, stumbling back with sword slashing and illusions shrieking. _“Come here, you filth! I'm walking death- meet me!”_

No sign of Bauer or Elias- it didn't matter! _Whatever happened- the line had to stand!_ He edged away from that direction, hacking at limbs as he went, senses heightened for the next pounce from that damnable beast.

The swarm at his heels now served another purpose- his own blockade of warriors, unwitting as they were to the advantage they'd given. When the creature swooped for him he was prepared with a kick, hurdling an enemy into the strike of lightning. Not only was it felled by the attack but the attacker itself was thrown off balance. Intending to land upon Dorian, instead it tumbled into the ground near his side.

He spun towards it and simultaneously an icicle lanced the stone in front of the monster, bursting into shards. Stunned, it flinched with a wet shriek. Briefly he thought Evallan had abandoned his post- but this was uncharacteristic to say the least and his cast would not be so miniscule. It had to have originated from Villyen, supporting him however he could.

Dorian stole the moment. Countering another Darkspawn, he tossed it into the beast and continued stealing far from the line. He was making good progress and didn't have to kill the thing- merely keep it away from their men.

How he'd avoid it himself was yet to be seen- his precarious evasion couldn't last and there was still no sign of Bauer or Elias. Nor could he afford to break contact and survey how the rest of the battle faired.

_It doesn't matter. Just do this one bloody thing!_

To worsen the situation when the creature next dropped into the mob it displayed more intelligence. Ignoring Dorian, it smashed into the circle of Darkspawn and scattered them. Losing this barrier had been his highest concern and as he leapt back with sword held out protectively, he still hadn't a clue how to proceed.

Villyen, he could tell, was equally panicked. The ground between he and the beast glossed over in erratic patches, seeking to hamper their enemy. This only helped a little- the crooked form bowled towards him.

Flailing his sword out reflexively, that turned out to be the correct motion- by pure chance. Deflected, the beast whirled through the air and crumpled into stone but was upon him again as rapidly.

He was too slow that time- or his grip too nervous- the result was the same. His flaming blade was snatched and pin-wheeled, skidding somewhere in the dark.

A twisted silhouette with lethal tendrils swung into view. The only action he could take was to spring back with an explosion of fire, pouring all his will into the flames.

Both were flung from the centre of the burst. Dorian ate dust, tasted blood, everything swayed.

He knew he had to move. Knees then feet- one foot after the other, as fast as he could urge them on. If he could only find his blighted sword!

He didn't get far before pain knotted at the back of his shoulder, a vicious current pulling his nerves tight. Paralysed and unable to even cry out, he folded and met rock a second time.

_I need to move I need to move I need to move!_

It was only a graze- he fought against it. Slowly- much slower than would be comforting- he willed himself barely onto his feet so he could at least confront his killer.

_You wanted your death to have some meaning, Dorian Pavus._

Close up there was no mistaking it- that was definitely the head of a wolf. Infected with mange to the point of rot, more teeth than face, the mangled, greying torso of a man freakishly attached. Definitely the head of a wolf, though. Quite unhurried as it edged towards him, rattling and wheezing, Dorian knew it scented his vulnerability.

_This has to better than being crushed to death, though._

_Maker, I hope Villyen tells him that I-_

A gust of hail blanketed the area, followed by a tell-tale shimmer that left him half-blind. Spots of dissonant colour pranced before his eyes, blurring everything so all he could perceive was the uneven outline of the wolfish aberration.

He couldn't help but deliriously recall his Harrowing. Except instead of invisible hands that squeezed his enemy until it popped, that same invisible hand became a fist and shattered the beast to nothing.

He was still trying to register the event- though the culprit was obvious- when someone clutched his shoulder. Desperate, bruising. Words were shouted but he couldn't understand- even for Dalish they were nonsensical and the voice speaking was obscured by inhuman layers.

“ _What?”_ He asked dazedly, eyes fluttering- trying to _see_ again.

There was some frustrated murmuring from the voice while Dorian's vision adjusted- Evallan's face, but his eyes and Vallaslin were searingly fluorescent. Even during their escapade with the rockfall they hadn't had such strength. It didn't quite _hurt_ to look at him, but he was forced to squint.

Seeming to have collected something of himself, the Keeper tried again- no less urgently, shaking Dorian as he barked;

“ _Are you badly injured?! Did you swallow any blood?!”_

“What!? No!- see-” But then, he doubted the elf _could_ see- not normally, not as he was now. Grabbing Evallan's wrist, he placed those fingers along his own jaw with a laugh.

“ _I'm fine!_ \- I'm fine.” It became reality as he said it, unnerved chuckles rolling through him. “I'm fine- you- you saved me...”

Though he sighed with relief, the Keeper retracted to conceal his face, muttering. His dismay was obvious and Dorian was momentarily lost, having to puzzle the scene together.

As could be predicted, the area directly around them was caked in frost. Beyond Evallan that trail dragged, almost to the spot where the elf had fought alongside the Wardens. Dorian couldn't guess how the battle unfolded for the most part- other than the only Darkspawn in sight were corpses. However it was clear the Emissary eluded them; Wardens and Templars remained at their post, deep in conversation. Where the line had stood people dispersed, either resting or tending to the wounded and dying. One thing was obvious.

_Evallan, you stupid idiot...you abandoned your bloody post for me._

And now he stood crackling with more magic than had to be safe to exude, head bent in shame. Probably not only battling with his impulsive decision but regretting Dorian witnessed him in this state. Though it was a foolish anxiety- the only thing to shock Dorian was the furious terror in Evallan's reactions. The singular other time he'd appeared so upset had been when sighting Villyen the day prior.

He recalled the amulet. The behaviour after Evallan's Harrowing. How he'd emotionally carried Dorian through that thaig, as much as Dorian physically carried him. Imagined him recognising Dorian was endangered and chasing for him without hesitation, without thought.

_You're not afraid of Darkspawn or demons or death-_

_but you can't say_ two honest bloody words _to me!_

_Your actions, though- you've never been good at controlling those, have you?_

“Evallan...” He placed a tremulous hand on the elf's shoulder.

_Maker, if I've got this wrong..._

_But if you're going to be a coward -_

The Keeper refused to look and so he firmed his grip, issuing words in a hush.

“ _Evallan!-_ Look at me.”

Successfully coaxed, the elf raised his head and flickered luminous eyes, apprehensive.

_I'll have to be brave._

Fuelled by the adrenaline and mortal knowledge that comes with evading death, he yanked Evallan into his torso and cupped his jaw, determinedly joining their mouths. A sort of hiccup popped from stolen lips and Dorian was convinced he'd be- perhaps justifiably- socked by the Keeper for the second time since their meeting.

Yet the only impact was the clang of Lightbringer hitting the floor. An arm wrapped securely around his waist, fingers curled against the back of his neck. Lips greedily accepted his own, breathe held, the heat of runaway magic crackled against his skin then halted all at once.

Adrenaline mingled with victory as he pressed himself into the other man, sliding his grasp from Evallan's shoulder to brace encouragingly into his back. The Emissary may have evaded them- but Dorian at least was not leaving the Deep Roads unrewarded.

_There's just one thing to take care of._

Possessed by that thought, he did not intend for his opposite digits to creep onto Evallan's chest but noticed the intrusion when the elf ripped away, gasping in alarm.

“ _Dorian!-_ wait- _”_

“ _I know!”_ He allowed the Keeper to disentangle, blurting as coherently as he could manage. “I know you have my amulet!”

Evallan paused, eyes saucer-like, cheeks still burning from their shred of intimacy.

“ _And I really don't care!”_ He laughed as he said it, slightly unhinged. _“I should, shouldn't I?!_ I should be angry with you!- But I...I'm glad it was you. That you had it. It wasn't just lost or stolen. It was with you- and you..”

He began to struggle, observing how the astonishment in Evallan's gaze was becoming pensive, conflicted.

“You kept it as safe as if it were something of your own. I don't know why- I can't...” He chuckled again, recalling his discussion with Elias once more. “I can't pretend to know how you think, Evallan...but I'm glad it was you.”

He had to admit it was both pitiful and endearing how lost for words the Keeper appeared. Mouth tight, eyes frozen in that stare, sometimes darting from Dorian's face, returning each time with still no ability of speech.

Neither were given time to formulate something intelligible- reality crashed into them via thunderous outrage;

“ _LAVELLAN!”_ Marcus- who else? The Templar stomped towards them, blood-drenched, wrenching off his helmet.

“There I am- trying to chase down that blighting Emissary! And what am I noticing all of a fucking sudden?! Well- it's moving a little fast, isn't it?! Don't I have some uppity fucking knife-ear to slow down these bastards retreat?!- _And where do I find you?!”_

During this admonishment Evallan was still dumbstruck, unable to respond. By the time Marcus reached them he mustered an excuse, verbally staggering.

“I- our line, it was-”

“ _I FIND YOU OVER HERE!”_ Spittle flew as the Templar screamed, smashing his helmet into the ground. “Messing around with _another uppity fucking mage not in fucking position!”_

Dorian hazarded to say something- anything- but Evallan sidled between the two and stated, authoritative.

“The line would have broken without him.”

“And that requires you to abandon your fucking post?!” The Templar jabbed Evallan's shoulder as though he were an unruly hound. “Like you don't know your fucking orders?!”

The elf cringed, more from humiliation and exposure than intimidation or pain- Dorian could tell by the familiar way his eyes consulted his boots before they squared on Marcus.

“Where is the Emissary now?”

“It fucking ran, Lavellan!” He roared into the Keeper's face, brandishing an arm almost threateningly. “Back towards the blighting Legion! Now the Wardens have to help them pincer the fucker and we have to total this fucking cavern!- _You_ dropped the fucking ball, Lavellan! You knew we needed to get pressure off the blighting Legion!”

Evallan rubbed fingertips against his temple as he processed this information, talking to himself in agitated Dalish. Concluding something, he offered, resolute.

“I will go with them, and ensure it-”

“ _Like fuck you will!”_ Marcus interjected. “I let you run off with them, chances are you won't fucking report back!”

The Keeper seemed genuinely taken aback, weight leaning defensively on his heels, face stone.

“You really suspect I would desert!?” He ground out after a pause.

“ _I don't know, Lavellan!”_ Marcus paused too, his gaze piercing into Dorian meaningfully, then dragging back to Evallan. “Lately, I don't know _what the fuck_ you're thinking.”

This caught Evallan off guard, words dying in his throat again.

“Report to me when we're done with this mess. We're having a fucking word.” That as his farewell, the Templar marched towards the arch they now had to demolish.

“He held the line, Marcus.” The Keeper said to his retreating back- somewhat lamely.

The Templar Commander walked on.

Evallan's whole frame quivered then jerked, his foot smacking into the abandoned helmet. It careened far over Marcus' head and clattered in the depths.

“ _He held the blighting line!”_ He shrieked after the helmet- to no reply.

“I'm sorry, Evallan.” It had been clear any addition from Dorian would be unhelpful, he could at least speak now. “I really didn't mean to-”

“ _You_ did nothing wrong!” Evallan whirled on him, hissing. _“You_ held the line!”

Their eyes met and the elf's expression softened, drawing into himself.

“We must speak,” He said gingerly, retrieving Lightbringer from the ground. “But first we must complete our mission.”

“Right- I should find Elias-” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, weighing his own regrettable decisions. “And my sword.”

They made to regroup in silence. Pain gradually transmitted as they ambled along. Mostly Dorian's shoulder burned but his head and jaw also throbbed. He realised suddenly there was blood smeared over his face- he'd bitten rock twice and his jaw was beginning to swell.

As if he wasn't already mortified without the knowledge he'd bled all over the man while kissing him.

Still he found himself attempting to imprint the moment into his consciousness. A difficult task through the ache in his limbs and the delayed shock from battle. The strength of Evallan's grip and the texture of his lips were being smothered by everything else.

_He has a little scar on his mouth- I remember that._

_He has so many little scars it's hard to map them all -_

_I'll always know that one, because I've felt it._

“Pavus- over here!” Briefly he was uncertain who called. Looking closer to the mouth of the cavern he spotted Bauer crouched over Elias, who lay half on his side, staff abandoned next to him.

Adrenaline rampaged through Dorian. He raced to meet them, collapsing onto knees beside Elias and shaking the mostly-aware mage. He was visibly sickened, dark splotches muddied his colour and veins protruded against skin, inflamed by Blight.

If there was anything that could rudely and instantly reawaken Dorian to the current moment, it was this.

“ _Kaffas!”_ His chords scratched out insurmountable curses before he had the mind to tame them. _“You idiot!_ What is this?! What did you do? _You were only meant to cover me!”_

“I know, I know!” Elias groaned, face burrowing into his palm. “I _was_ stupid! I got too close- I thought I could to be as fast as you- but I wasn't. By the time Bauer got to me...”

More vulgarities ripped from Dorian's throat, tears stung his eyes, his reactionary anger simmering into guilt.

“ _It was my fault!_ I shouldn't have let you follow me!” He practically tore out a clump of hair clutching his head.

“Dorian,” Elias hissed out with a bitter laugh. “No offence, but I don't want to spend my last moments in this world listening to you blame yourself.”

“You're right!” He tried to bite back tears but though he trapped his sobs deep within his ribs, his eyes still leaked. “Get him some bloody water, will you?!”

He ordered Bauer but the Templar lingered, unsmiling and mournful.

“If I give him anything, Marcus will say it was a waste.”

“ _To the bloody void with Marcus!”_ He shouted with every tumultuous feeling inside him. Bauer was swayed enough to depart- attention on his boots the entire time.

“I saw what you did,” Elias bantered through coughs, seeming to want to distract. “You got them all on you...don't know how you survived _that._ What even _was_ it?”

“The lure?” Dorian answered distantly. “It was just plain old Horror, you know. All I did was take out the horror bit, really.”

“See, that's the kind of thing I'd never think to do.” Elias sighed, heaving his weight further onto a rock.

“You can aim at long-range better than anyone I saw, though. Even Lavellan, you know, he just bull-rushes everything,” Dorian chuckled bitterly, considering that Evallan's most recent bull-rush had been towards the wrong man. “You have real precision.”

“Lot of good it did me!”

“You should have stayed on the ridge.” He lowered his head, cradling it miserably. “I'm sorry, Elias.”

“Hey, what did I say about that?” His tone was adamant. “ _I chose_ to follow you, Dorian. That was _my_ choice.”

“ _It doesn't matter!”_ He sucked in air so he would not weep. “I should have stopped you! I should have known you'd get over-bloody-confident!”

“You had your eye on this one, no?” Evallan's voice breezed through their discussion. For once Dorian had been ignorant to his whereabouts but he loomed over them now, accompanied by Lance, Fletch, and Marcus scowling behind.

“Yeaaaah, I remember the boy.” Lance gurgled and waved to Elias with his staff. “You, boy, stand.”

“ _What?”_ Elias and Dorian uttered in synchronicity, jarred and witless.

“I said _stand!_ \- Gimme a good look at you!”

With Dorian's aid, Elias was able to find his feet. After a ponderous inspection, Lance stabbed his fingers into Elias' chest with a fizzle of magic and a thoughtful grunt.

“ _Ow!_ What was that?!” The younger mage whined, brushing off his robes.

“Like he said,” Fletch offered with typical joy. “He's just taking a good look at you! What do you think, boss?”

“Has a good a chance as any, I'd say.” Lance replied with a non-committal shrug.

The two Wardens peered at Marcus expectantly, like children awaiting dessert after a meal. It was slowly dawning what took place but Dorian had trouble believing the sheer luck.

“ _Fuck it, fine, fuck it!”_ The Templar raised his hands in defeat. “He's dead meat anyway! But if when the Magisterium or Chantry find out they start sending me bullshit letters about who-gave-me-the-right-blah-fucking-blah, I'm telling them it was you!”

“Sure, fine,” Lance accepted airily. “Not like my eyes are good for reading.”

“Then who takes all your fucking letters?” Marcus asked as an aside.

“Fletch here's the one takes all complaints.”

“That's right!” The dwarf in question was happy to confirm.

“Thought you couldn't fucking read?” The Templar seemed annoyed.

“That's right!” Fletch confirmed again, still fully content.

“That explains...more than I blighting want it to.” Marcus groaned. “It's your lucky fucking day, Caladrius! Get lost with these lunatics before I decide you're better off dead.”

“Can...can I take a moment to say goodbye to my friend?” Elias managed to stutter the request and with a collective murmur they were given space.

Looking at each other, they burst into strained laughter, full of grief as well as hope. Dorian earnestly wiped the tears from his face- no need for those.

“See? Following you got me into the Wardens. No quicker way out of the tower!”

“Though perhaps the most lethal.” He sighed, willing composure back to himself.

“Well...it _is_ what I wanted, anyway.” Elias angled his head sort of childishly, smirking. “And see, I have you and Lavellan to thank for it- and _you_ said he wouldn't get me into the Wardens!”

“If he'd run for you, instead of me-”

“Then you'd be the one going with them, and that's not where you belong.” His features hardened, though with a confident smile. “But it _is_ where I belong, you'll see.”

“ _Hurry the fuck up, Caladrius!”_ Marcus roared and Elias backed away, still smiling.

“We probably shouldn't hug- y'know, Blight...I guess if it all goes well, you'll hear from me soon.” He began shuffling towards the gathered Wardens. A mage was already inscribing Lance's rune for when they departed.

“Farewell, Elias,” His voice wavered, struggling to keep eyes dry. “I-I'm proud you're my friend, you know that?”

Elias Caladrius of Tevinter, the first of his people to be conscripted since the Blight, inclined his head around to flash another smug expression- though it didn't conceal the gleam over his eyes.

“Ah- shut up, Pavus!...You put me to shame out there.”

Dorian observed while blood-stained robes were swallowed by the grey-and-blue of the Wardens, the new expedition soon dissipating into murk. At some point he was aware of Evallan gravitating to his side but he did not have the mind to address him until his friend was out of sight.

“He's going to live because of you.” He said suddenly, wanting to show gratitude but not able to make eye contact with the elf. Not just yet. Not with so much raw emotion battling inside himself.

“If he lives it is because he displayed his capabilities to the Warden Commander,” Evallan corrected tepidly. “And he may yet not survive, but he has a chance.”

“Still...Lance probably wouldn't have known if you didn't see him.”

“And I would not have seen him if he were not your friend. The particulars do not matter, and will drive you mad if you think of them.”

Trying to absorb that advice, he turned his head and discovered Evallan held Dorian's discarded hilt.

“Your weapon.” He offered it with much politeness- Dorian couldn't help chuckling.

“Oh, you don't want to hide it in your robes for a decade until I think to put my hand there?”

The Keeper's wintery visage pinked, expression a straight line- Dorian could tell he was mortified.

“Too soon, I think? _My bloody mouth..._ ” He retrieved the object, head bent apologetically.

“It is not undeserved.” Evallan muttered and stared off somewhere. It struck Dorian- not for the first time- how this towering elf plastered in scar-tissue could dissolve into being as meek as a stray pup.

_I wish we could have grown alongside each-other - in the tower._

_The shame wouldn't have grown with you - I wouldn't allow it!_

_But you'd say_ 'the particulars do not matter' _if I told you._

_Because you were raised by the Blight and it fosters no love in it's children._

It occurred to him he was burning a target into Evallan when his less-than-chilling gaze circled Dorian's. Somewhere far away the great crashing of the mountain vibrated the thaig but he didn't bother to see. Dorian knew very well it was the earthen rune sealing his friend to a life with the Wardens- and that was if the Maker smiled on them.

They faced each other in the isolating darkness as the rockfall coughed dust around them, neither willing to be the first to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's happening. it's finally fucking happening


	10. Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 4.5) More awkward conversation in the Deep Roads, this time from Evallan's perspective.  
> (Also known as Evallan's-Horrible-Terrible-No-Good-Very-Bad-Day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: apologies that the last few chapters were uploaded consistently and this one/the next are taking forever. I finish two chapters then upload one because it helps with editing. This chapter's been finished for a while since it was intentionally straight-forward after the endless miscommunications but the Next one is dragging over the word limit I try to keep. It's almost done but uploads will probably be slower as I catch up to my usual pace.
> 
> Secondly: this is the halfway point of what I consider to be "season one" in my head, so it's like our first milestone save, and it's pretty cool we got this far.
> 
> Most Importantly: if you've read this much thank you, I appreciate you a lot. And if you're reading this in 2020, I hope you stay safe in these weird times.

Since spotting Dorian's ghoulish cast from across the battlefield, Evallan's thoughts had not stopped reeling. He'd attempted to console himself, citing the skill and intelligence of the man. However upon sighting the freakish anomaly, he'd known Dorian could not succeed on his own. The Tevinter was cunning and gifted with a surprising dexterity but had not the experience to survive the encounter.

_We must protect him!_

The urge overcame him, overcame everything. Lightbringer did not protest- if anything she understood with perfect clarity. Dorian Pavus was not clan but he was treasured as much by her wielder. As an entity devoted to the protection of family and kin, she could not watch him fall anymore than Evallan could.

At least his suspicion was confirmed; she had no intention of abandoning Dorian the previous day, only meaning to tease him over his panic for the man.

So they sprinted, two beings with one goal. By the time he reached the line, magic fizzled around him with erratic fury and no one in the huddle dared reject his command. They probably thought he meant to do something of more significance than rescue the foolish Tevinter.

“ _Let me through!”_

The river of red-stained shields parted then clanged shut behind him. Embodying a blizzard, he ripped across the field, encasing the world in ice as he went. His vision blurred to the point of leaving him sightless yet he found no need for eyes. Senses reduced to textures and frequencies, the Deep Roads existed as a map drawn onto his consciousness.

His focus centred on two heartbeats; the first inhumanely slow and deep, almost dead, the other was quickened from panic but still with a signature he recognised.

_Dorian._

Evallan moved with enough urgency he almost startled himself when confronted by the bristling aura of the aberration, a foreboding stain upon the canvas of life.

_Kill it! Kill it now!_

The order still hung in his mind when the thing was petrified and imploded into the tiniest fragments. He would have laughed in discomfort at the absurd efficiency if he were not so strangled by concern, refusing to stop for breathe until Dorian confirmed his health.

His thoughts may have calmed in their reeling then, if the fool hadn't-

Evallan could not repeat it to himself.

Embarrassment towards his actions and appearance melted into satisfaction, terror into hunger. He could dance around his emotions all day but not when Dorian Pavus gave of himself so willingly.

_The nerve of the shem!- He must have known._

Known that Evallan's carefully-constructed veneer of restraint was thin and riddled in vulnerabilities. Known he would have no choice but to embrace him- it was not a choice to him.

_If a key is made for a lock, it will turn._

However the most scandalous knowledge Dorian had somehow obtained was the location of his lost birthright, pressed to Evallan's ribs all along.

_Yet you did not take it, you did not confront me. You chose to -_

_I really cannot say I understand the way_ you _think either, Dorian Pavus._

Nor could he bring himself to vocalise any of these musings. He was achingly aware of Dorian studying him, calculating but somehow not unkind.

With a steadying inhale, he glanced at the caved-in tunnel and renewed his efforts to meet the man's gaze- a challenge to be sure.

“I am sorry about your friend...You are alright?” Perhaps he would not wish to discuss the amulet, considering the fate of Elias Caladrius.

“Oh, I'm fine I suppose, I just...” He started a little hoarsely and had to clear his throat. “He always wanted to be a Warden, but I never imagined it would actually happen. Or if it did, certainly not like this.”

“I know it is little consolation, especially as it is yet to be seen if he will survive,” He eased as he talked, thinking they might evade other topics. “But the Wardens are in need of recruits like him- capable mages who are good at following direction.”

“Nothing like _you_ , then,” Dorian joked freely, affectionately. “ _You_ do whatever you please.”

Evallan felt the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile, unable to prevent it.

“And yet my place should be with them.” He answered casually, only realising the gravity of his statement when Dorian perked a brow in alarm.

“You _want_ to be a Warden?”

“No, not truly- that would be foolish, no?” He relented beneath the worrisome expression. “But they do not fear me. They would utilise my abilities to their fullest. They would not poke and prod when something escapes their understanding...”

The Tevinter nodded in slow comprehension but his features soon became pensive, a knowing curve playing along his lips. Evallan had to look away once more, unable to withstand the invitation he read in that smile, knowing he could not refuse it.

“The Wardens aren't really what we should discuss, Evallan.” He said it softly but with obvious meaning.

He sighed, still refusing to view the man's face.

“You wish to speak of that _now?”_ He mumbled more coldly than intended.

“I think I'd rather that than worry over my friend, yes.” His reply seemed sincere. Evallan had to submit with another weary sigh.

“As you say...” He struggled to make his voice audible as he fished into his robes. “I believe this is yours...”

Tarnished gold swayed from his trembling digits though he did not extend- and Dorian made no motion to claim the birthright. This reassured him somehow, though he couldn't explain why.

“How did it come into your possession, then?” He pressed- but gently.

“When I hit you-” Evallan fumbled with the words, eyes on the ground. “It was dropped...I had knelt over it without meaning to. I took it without knowing what it was- at first...”

“Why didn't you simply _return_ it, Evallan?” Dorian's pitch heightened, both incredulous and sympathetic.

“You were correct in your assessment,” He laughed brokenly, rubbing his eyes so they would not shed. _“_ I am a coward. I could not face you...I wished for Amrallan to deliver it, but he refused.”

“Amrallan knew?” Dorian chuckled. “Well, that explains him being so cheerful when he saw me outside your aravel..”

“Yes, he...understood the situation. We could never hide anything from the other,” Speaking of his brother quelled his nerves, nostalgia blanketing him. “Our mother always said it was a mistake of the gods we were not born together.”

Dorian allowed him to linger on the memory, not pushing him for more but merely watching in respectful quiet. Given time to balance himself, he continued with more strength.

“He told me I could return it to you, or hold onto it and let it drive me mad...so that is what I did.”

“But for so long?” Though he still could not look, Evallan heard the confusion. “You could have just...hidden it in my room, or something?”

This would be more difficult to convey. Indeed he wished he could skirt it entirely, the way he did all his emotions. He knew that was no longer an option- Dorian Pavus was owed more than that.

In truth he was owed more than Evallan could ever give.

“At first...I was simply a coward,” He wrestled with each syllable, forcing them into the light. “But it...became something that helped me survive. A reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” Dorian's voice cracked.

Evallan had to meditate carefully upon his answer, needing to conceptualise feelings and ideas he'd never had to verbalise.

“One of the last things my brother did was to refuse the amulet. Not long after, he died to protect our clan- to protect me, because of what I represent.” He sucked in air painfully, the grief left unvoiced for years oozed from him like infection from a wound. Pressure that must be released, but that agonised him to do so.

“I watched their bodies burn with your birthright around my neck. Whenever I looked at it, I would feel guilt, and imagine them.”

“It was all you had left of him.” Dorian uttered suddenly, voice as melancholic as Evallan felt.

“It was.” He choked back a sob, transformed it into a bitter laugh- more like a bark. “But soon it was not him I imagined, or my family. It...was you.”

Finally he mustered the courage to make visual contact with the Tevinter; grey eyes full of wonder and heat, sparking with hints of the amber light of The Deep Roads, for now rendered speechless by Evallan's admittance.

“I imagined a world where I returned this to you, and you...” Speech fizzled in his throat but Evallan knew he had to persevere, the rest leaving him in a hush. “Would recognise me as yours along with it...And so, you see...when we finally met, I could not let go of this imagining.”

Dorian's features softened, a sadness to his gaze. Yet somehow still welcoming- even without a smile.

“You don't have to imagine that, Evallan.” He said this just as softly and it took everything within himself not to break right then, into a thousand shards, like one of his own spells.

“Yes, I do.” His voice wavered, he felt so drained, breaking eye contact once more. “I am the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan.”

“You wouldn't be the only Lavellan involved with a shem- or a Tevinter.”

“It is not the same.” He shook his head, fingers tightening around the chain he still held. “Lightbringer and I are all that remains of the heart of our clan. My life must be a service to others- to those who sacrificed themselves so I could fulfil my purpose.”

“And there's no room for anything else- _why?”_ Dorian was incensed, though clearly attempted to reign himself in. “ _All_ because of some spirit? You have to live at the whim of others for the rest of your days because- because she chose you when you were- how old even _were you?”_

“Ten.” Evallan replied, flat.

“ _Ten?!”_ The Tevinter gave way to unhinged chuckles. “So a spirit took a liking to you when you weren't even old enough to piss straight and that should decide your whole life!?”

“Yes.” He replied again, still flat.

“Evallan,” He chortled deliriously. “That's insane, you must see how insane that is- at the very least, it is quite cruel.”

“It may have been different, if it were not for the Blight,” He murmured, shrugging. “As things are, I am a symbol my people must feel they can rely on.”

“But you're a _person!”_

“ _To you,_ I am a person,” He ground out, becoming impatient. _“To them_ , to Thedas, I must strive to be more. I must embody them, their faith in me, their lack of it- all of it.”

This silenced him, though Evallan lacked the nerve to truly witness how it was received- he could not bear to look into Dorian's face and see disappointment or grief. Instead watching the amulet swing near his breast- he had to ask.

“You saw this when we fell, but you did not take it...”

There was a pause. Then, full of impassioned stubbornness-

“You can't think of anything I might value more than some silly little amulet!?”

He froze, staring at the gold etchings and nothing else.

“I have a duty to my clan.” He stated with as much conviction as he was capable of- which in that moment, was very little.

“And I to my country,” Dorian countered, undeterred. “But don't you think it's possible that we could also have a duty to each other?”

He recalled Titus Ahriman and the blighted oath he'd insisted on swearing to the Lavellan Clan, to Fila.

_You all act as though it is so simple._

_As though every expectation can be overthrown- for what?_

_For a simple_ feeling _?_

_I envy you that freedom._

“I would like to believe that.” He rasped after some time.

“But you don't.” Dorian stated it as a matter-of-fact and Evallan could give no reply.

_To say I believe is a betrayal of my duties._

_To say I do not is a lie to you._

_And I grow so weary of_ lying _to you, Dorian Pavus._

He thrust the amulet into the chest of its rightful owner, grimly announcing;

“It does not matter what I believe.”

Dorian was briefly wordless, then-

“No- I don't want it.”

“ _What?!”_ Evallan snapped his posture to actually behold the Tevinter, staring at him in bafflement that tilted towards outrage. _What did he mean, he did not want it?!_

Of course Dorian Pavus was quite amused and even satisfied by this, smiling pleasantly.

“If it's all you'll have of me, I'd rather you kept it.”

“Dorian-”

“I mean it, Evallan! I want you to hold onto it!” He interrupted, laughing cheerfully. “It's probably brought _you_ more luck than it ever has me! You'll be going back to Tevinter anyway, won't you? You'll be taking it _home_ for me! And when the Archdemon is slain, you'll return it, and I'll carry it home for good.”

There was much he wanted to say; that this was not some whimsical bedtime story exchanged in the dark, that this gesture ultimately meant nothing, that this stupid thing had haunted him for almost half his lifetime and all he desired was the fool to free him of it!

But lost for words, all he could manage was;

“I cannot...” While lamely attempting to empty his hands into Dorian's.

“Alright, well...” The man peered down at his newfound burden, pondering. “...I'll just toss it, then!”

“ _What?!”_ He had no control over how shrill his voice became.

“Well, it hardly has any value to _me!_ \- Especially without a country to go back to!” Dorian guffawed and sauntered some distance, amulet dangling precariously, headed for an edge where stone gave way to endless void.

“Something tells me this will hurt _you_ a lot more than it will hurt _me_ , so-”

An image of the demonic figment from his Harrowing imposed itself upon the world. Evallan's heart caught in his throat and his chest constricted. Unconscious of himself, he sprang and snatched.

“ _Give it!”_ He hissed, vehement, and was overjoyed and shamefully comforted when instead of taunting or hurdling it away, the real Dorian allowed the metal coils to slip onto his fingers with a heart-warming chuckle.

“So we're agreed!” He announced brightly. “You'll hold onto it for me!”

Clutching the object for dear life, he practically smothered it against his chest while scowling at the man- who did not seem even slightly unnerved in response.

“Until the Archdemon is slain.” He grumbled, looping the birthright carefully around his neck and beneath his robes, where it had rested for a lonely decade.

“I'd say you can wear it on the _outside_ of your robes now, but I know you won't.” Dorian observed with feigned humour- Evallan could hear the bitterness there.

“I must report to Marcus.” He decided, ignoring the rest, avoiding his gaze. “And you must see to your injuries.”

Evallan marched for his destination without another word, never looking back.

Deep within himself, he cried out against the impenetrable darkness.

\--

In the gloom of the Templar Commander's tent, Marcus slouched heavily in a chair with a flask in one hand, the Deep Roads map spread out on the foldable table as usual. He glanced at Evallan with a irate huff as he entered, imbibing on a swig of whatever the flask contained- all Evallan discerned was it smelled terrible.

“Took your fucking time.” The Templar admonished, visually slicing into him.

“I apologise.” He would do that much, though without elaboration.

The weighty figure slanted in his chair, luckily- or unluckily- preoccupied by other matters.

“I only have one thing to fucking ask you,” He swung forward, chair-legs slamming with him. “What the _fuck_ has got into you, Lavellan? You're not acting right, even for you.”

“You base this on what?” He inquired, tepid.

“I base it on a lot of things,” His stare never relented, nor did his habit of scrutinising everyone and everything around him like prey. “Most immediate-like? I'm basing it on the fact you abandoned your fucking post. Since when do you abandon your target, Lavellan? Aren't I always having to stop your stupid pointy-eared arse from rushing every damn thing?”

Evallan had prepared for this, indignantly knitting his brow;

“You utilise my people ineffectually, then mean to sacrifice them when-”

“There it is!” The Commander intervened with a wild grin, all teeth, a mad dog rearing for a pounce. “' _Your people'?_ All the time I've known you, I've never known you to call no Circle Mage _'your people'_. Us Templars aren't _'your people'_ , The Tevinter mages definitely never been _'your people'_...”

The unavoidable exposure cut into Evallan like a blade through the heart, paralysed. Marcus caught this effortlessly; he snickered, head bobbing.

“But some 'Vint dog you barely know, he's _'your people',_ is he? Now that makes me wonder..”

“Your petty assertions are your own folly!” He lashed out before he could hold himself, causing Marcus to snort derisively.

“So it's all in my head, is it? You fawning over that 'Vint all day, dragging him wherever you go, playing at knight like a couple of damn kids...Giving me lip over him, throwing away our whole fucking mission because of him? None of that's out of character for you?”

He lowered his head, shoulders quivering- recited one after the other, there was no way to excuse the obvious picture Evallan had painted for anyone who truly knew his habits.

“That's right! I know you better than you know yourself!” Marcus howled in brief, crazed amusement. “Horrible, isn't it? To know someone better than anyone in the world, and be bound by hate?”

“We do not have to hate each other.” He said absently, hardly meaning it.

“ _Yes we fucking do, Lavellan!”_ The Templar roared, straightening to bang his fist on the table. “Because it's the only void-damned thing that keeps your crazed fucking elf mind in check!”

Evallan shuddered at the force of the exclamation, deigning to inspect his feet.

Marcus' lungs seethed, chair scraping as he heaved back into it.

“I always wondered why the Maker cursed us with _you_ as our saviour,” He cackled almost hysterically. “Some lunatic savage who doesn't even believe, doesn't even fucking respect the symbol he fights under! But I always had a grudging respect for you, know that?”

There was an intermission as the Templar drank but Evallan still did not look at him- or speak, too stunned and humiliated for either.

“At the very least, he sure is dedicated! He sure is tenacious! Kind of like an insane fucking monk!” He sipped more alcohol. “And then you started to drag the fairy around, and it occurred to me...you didn't swear any vows- you were waiting for someone.”

Dorian's face swirled into his minds eye, beseeching him, amulet swinging between them.

_'But don't you think it's possible that we could also have a duty to each other?'_

Evallan pursed his lips tightly, examined the worn tips of his boots, said nothing, trembled in place.

Marcus took that as a sign to continue.

“Listen, Lavellan...Fortunately for you, I can't go back to the tower and say you're an abomination just because you've got some pathetic crush and never listen to a blighting word I say. But this is _embarrassing_ \- you're embarrassing yourself, and you're embarrassing everything you're meant to represent.”

He thought of Amrallan, his family, his one living kin- Villyen, the astonished offence he displayed upon hearing his Eldest's name on the Tevinter's tongue. Dorian's own astonished offence, unable to comprehend why Evallan must reject his feelings in order to fulfil his purpose.

His entire frame was tremulous and he fought to still it, to no avail.

“You want to play house with the fucking fairy in private? I don't give two shits. But out there- your arse is mine. Because if there's another fucking hiccup and I get the sense it's because you're too busy making doe-eyes at that 'Vint to follow an order, I'll know who should really get the punishment.”

_'I'd say you can wear it on the outside of your robes now, but I know you won't.'_

Moisture welled in his eyes as he scrunched their lids shut, hoping to dam them, fists balling at his sides.

“I've got to admit!” Marcus went on, apparently not done with his drunken spiel- perhaps digging for a response, not accustomed to this complete lack of it. “This is the last fucking thing I expected from _you,_ Lavellan! A lot of things I fucking expect from you. This? Is fucking ridiculous.”

_'But you're a person!'_

_To_ you _I am a person._

Air barely managed to hiss through Evallan's strangled throat, at this point shaking unreservedly, the dam breaking to release streams of frustration along his cheeks.

“ _Andraste's-flaming-fucking-pyre!”_ The Templar growled, kicking the table between them. “Don't fucking _cry,_ Lavellan!”

“ _I am not crying!”_ He snarled wetly, eyes flung open to glower at Marcus through their mist. Yet his indignation on its own would not plug the tears cascading down his face, though his mouth contorted rabidly, spittle trickling from a corner.

The Templar studied him with exasperation written on his features, huffing as he picked a rag from somewhere. He tossed it across the map, landing near Evallan.

“Get yourself _the fuck together_ before someone sees you- then get out! _”_ Grumbling, he hunched over the map. “Like you didn't make us all look _enoug_ h fucking stupid.”

He felt so weak and witless that he could do nothing but accept the cloth and bury into it, gasping for equilibrium. The threat of exposure had always loomed over him- had always tormented him, but for the Templar to be the one delivering it was unbearable.

_He speaks it true- that is why._

_Others may spare my feelings, but he sees me for what I am._

_And I humiliate even him._

A quill scratched on paper, barely hearing it for some time. Gradually, after much hyperventilating into the fabric, the _scratch-scratch-scratch_ shifted to the forefront of his mind. He peeked dry eyes over the rag.

“You want a fucking apple or something?” Marcus offered begrudgingly, glancing at him.

“I am not a child.” He rebuffed, dropping the damp material onto the table.

“ _Could have fooled me!”_ Marcus shouted after his back.

The tent sealed and he kept walking, mindless. Though people rested or tended to injuries, he still felt agitated by the commotion of the main camp. Thinking of the shelter and supply-bundle that remained closer to their intended exit, he made for that direction.

Blocking out his surroundings, it took someone calling for him to notice a firepit he wandered by.

“You screwed up, Lavellan.”

Evallan recognised the voice- of course not by name. Not bothering to look, he knew it belonged to a bearded Templar with red hair.

“And Marcus is riled at _us_ for letting you through.” His accomplice would be a somewhat shorter man, darker hair, no beard.

The accusation earned a pause, leering over his shoulder.

“Perhaps then, you should not have let me through?” He advised coolly. “Or is it _my_ command you are under?”

“H-hey, let's all calm down,” The Templar he recognised as having gifted him an apple materialised from somewhere. “It wasn't really our job to deal with the nest or anything- the Legion only asked us to wall the place up-”

“Fuck off, Bauer,” The smaller one interjected. “Just because Marcus gives you command, doesn't mean you know anything- and why are you defending _him?!_ Probably couldn't remember your name if you put a knife to him.”

“Yeah, I know that, but we still shouldn't-”

“Not like we don't all know whose command _Lavellan's_ under,” The red-head cut in. “Did the 'Vint bitch blow a whistle for you, or what?”

He felt his eyes narrow dangerously, picking the man's face apart with his stare. Unbothered, the shem bared his teeth, triumphant.

“Oh I'm sorry, what was I thinking?” He knocked a hand against his head in some comedic show. “That'd make _you_ the bitch, right?”

He was so furious he could not even hear what else they said, knowing only the temperature around him plummeted.

_I could kill you._

_I could kill all of you and take him away from here._

_None of you could stop me._

_Those capable enough would be too afraid to try!_

Knowing also this was foolhardy, he swivelled and stormed off, ignoring the taunting hoots that bid him farewell. He became angrier with each step. Hisses of air evolved into gasps, until he was hyperventilating while he stormed through the familiar passages, nails embedding into palms, jaw strained.

_We cannot protect him._

_We can barely protect our clan._

_We are turned against our purpose again and again!_

Halting, he threw out his hands, crystal shards spearing the air to implant into rock.

_How long can I stand it for?!_

_How long can_ we _stand it for-_

_until we are made unrecognisable?!_

His own nonsense-shrieks echoed back and somehow this frustrated him more, swirls of cool magic wrapping around his frame. Senselessly reacting to his emotions, he barrelled into solid stone along a trail of ice. On impact a crack issued from either neck or circlet and he rebounded to flop onto the ground, eyes fixated upwards and seeing nothing.

Evallan could not estimate how long he lay in the damp, listening to the aching drum from his skull.

“Brother...” Villyen's voice, cautiously spoken. “...Are you alright?”

He huffed, irritated that his First should witness this. He gathered himself, lids fluttering against some wetness on his brow. Villyen stood not far and inched closer, perusing his Keeper's face.

“I am fine, Villyen,” He grated out. “I am just...the humans frustrate me.”

The other Lavellan hesitated with something unsaid, forcing himself to verbalise.

“What is it between you and that shem, brother?”

Evallan blinked in response, not comprehending.

“You have to ask why I dislike the Templars?”

“I don't mean the Templar,” Villyen answered lowly. “I mean the shem from Tevinter- the one who speaks your name.”

Suspicion was plain in every syllable, in every nuance of Villyen's expression. A long sigh whisked from Evallan, bowing his head to press fingertips against sealed eyes, an image of Dorian coaxing him into an embrace sketched upon them.

_Villyen may have seen._

Though that did not mean his brother knew exactly what he saw. Dropping his hand, he formulated a narrative he was optimistic held enough truth to be heard as sincere.

“We fought once- do you remember? When we first came to the Circle.”

Villyen skulked forward, nodding in gradual recollection.

“You hit him...and I think I spoke to him in the library.”

“That fight is why it is strange between us,” Even vaguely, it exhausted him to relay- but that would make him appear more genuine, he supposed. “We must act as allies, but there are many differences....it is trying.”

His brother's mouth firmed, eyes skirting around Evallan's face.

“So it's true- you never gave him your name?”

“Of course not.” His dismissal was prompt- this at least was no lie, or half-truth.

“And you never wanted to..?”

Caught off guard, speech failed him briefly.

“...Why would you ask me such?”

“He told me where he heard it- but it's odd to me,” Villyen mumbled, audibly discomforted. “Even if a spirit heard your name...why would they give it? Even if he asked? It must have known what it meant.”

He was uncertain what to say- this wasn't exactly an accusation, but to Evallan it was a petty detail. He had never questioned it and could only give a non-committal answer.

“It is not always possible to discern the motives of spirits, I am afraid.”

“You don't find it a little strange?” Villyen pressed, eyeing him. “Even if it knew...it shouldn't have felt entitled to give it away like that.”

“I really cannot say what it was thinking, Villyen,” He said truthfully, perplexed. “It is not as if I have met this spirit.”

“As you say, brother.” Villyen deflated, still regarding him warily. “I just find it curious.”

Unable to think of more that might reassure him, he could only touch his brother's shoulder lightly and offer him a tense half-smile, earning a silent pout.

“I am headed to the camp we left near the entrance.” Evallan informed while drawing away.

“I can come with you-”

“No- it is fine,” He craved isolation- and still wished to avoid a fade-walk in Villyen's presence. “Stay with the other mages. Continue to represent us admirably, as you have been doing.”

“....As you say,” He relented with only a hint of stubbornness. “Ah, wait...”

Extending his hand, robe-sleeve knotted around it, he swiped gingerly over his Keeper's forehead while noting in bemusement.

“There's blood on your circlet...”

“Thank you, brother.”

Flashing a timid smile, Villyen let him be.

\--

Solitude brought Evallan no peace.

Huddled on the cot, the sound of trickling water from somewhere his only company, regret chased him in circles.

_What was I thinking- to bring him with me?!_

_But I was correct- he saved Villyen!_

_He held our line._

_I only wanted others to see his worth!_

_But when I am with him I -_

_\- I forget all else._

_I cannot afford that!_

He twisted around restlessly, growling to no one.

_Villyen would not understand._

_The way he looked at me..._

_They are the same as the Blight to him._

_If_ he _does not understand, I cannot expect it of anyone._

Flailing to sprawl on his back, hands cupped over ears as if that would muffle his thoughts.

_How do I make myself forget that you kissed me?!_

Especially when recalling that moment was the only thing to still him?

Nerves soothed as he remembered the way Dorian firmed his hand against Evallan's spine, urging him on so all pretence dissolved, forgetting easily where he was or what he meant to do.

 _To_ you _I am a person._

_But you are wrong._

Even so, he fell asleep reimagining that stolen intimacy.

\--

When consciousness graced him next, his first observation was a scent of ash, sweat and earth. Mingled together and with an undertone that had become shamefully recognisable to him. His eyes focused and unfocused but he knew with perfect clarity whose neck his face was buried into.

“You did not have to search me out.” He rasped, batting away sleep- though motionless. They were in one of the crumbled side-paths, Evallan bundled in the Tevinter's arms, Dorian spread out with back against wall, feeling quite at ease beneath him.

“Yes, well,” He also made no attempt to move. “I had trouble not imagining you stuck in a hole, or mauled by Darkspawn as you wandered about.”

“Lightbringer can defend herself.”

“I'm sure she can, if she can see the bloody thing.” He guffawed. “Unfortunately, you are both quite lost without the other, no? I promise I'll cease acting as your shadow once we return to the tower- and you're able to lock a door behind you.”

Evallan huffed in defeat, glancing around himself. By the position of the earthen rune in this particular alcove, he deduced they were outside the demolished ritual chamber.

“How did you know I would be here?” He questioned lazily.

“A hunch, really,” Dorian yawned and Evallan suddenly realised his hair was being played with. “I thought she might be drawn to this place, to cleanse the corruption, or what have you.”

For a time he said nothing, indulging in the closeness for as long as he dared.

“Is there a reason you lay here, and did not carry me to camp?”

“Oh well yes, actually,” Dorian conveyed in an unhurried manner, still petting the head bent under his chin. “There's two reasons for that. First off, you are in something of a habit of falling directly atop me. Which, I don't particularly _mind,_ Evallan- but it does bring me to my second reason, which is that my shoulder is still quite sore, so I found it rather more difficult to lift you.”

He groaned in annoyance at himself, immediately disentangling, wobbling on his feet.

“You don't have to-” Dorian consoled with a soft laugh.

“No, it is fine.” He said hoarsely, brushing himself off. “Come, there is no more reason to lay on the floor.”

They walked for some time and he must have staggered- Dorian reached for him.

“I am fine.” He dismissed, continuing to walk.

“It's alright to lean on me if you're tired, you know.” Dorian chided, slipping an arm around Evallan's waist.

“I am fine.” He repeated without strength, automatically utilising the Tevinter as a crutch.

Entering their tent soon after, the first thing he did was toss the rickety cot into the Deep Roads with a lame snarl. He didn't want the other mage to rest crookedly against it as he'd done the previous night, and knew he would insist.

“Well, won't that be a useful bit of salvage for some future enterprising adventurer.” Dorian remarked jovially.

“Dorian...” He grunted, throwing supplies everywhere as he sought for makeshift bedding. “Sometimes...you talk terribly much.”

The Tevinter smiled at him in bewilderment while he assisted, soon taking over and shoving Evallan's useless, half-asleep hands away. Within moments he was cajoled onto a pile of canvas and bedding, still an improvement from the cot.

Dorian sidled up next to him, fingers naturally winding around his own.

“You do not have to-”

“Oh shut up, Evallan,” He was impatient towards the protest, keeping his hold secure. “You'll worry me to death. You're going to stay put.”

Evallan shut his mouth and then his eyes.


	11. Bitter Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 5) Dorian faces a mixed reception at the Circle Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter that tested me slightly because it kept dragging on. Hope it's still enjoyable lol.
> 
> Also unfortunate news; my laptop needs to be serviced and I can't have it done until the beginning of next month, so I'm on a forced hiatus. I'm actually uploading this while having basically nothing written of the next chapter because I'm really scared of losing my work, even though I've backed it up onto multiple locations now. This also means this chapter has been less edited than the others and we all know my editing is already not great, so I'm just. sorry about that.
> 
> I might get lucky and the laptop-servicing will go by quickly, and it'll be like I barely went on a hiatus. That's what I'm hoping for anyway, since I do everything on this machine lol.
> 
> Anyway, as always big Thank You for reading! We'll be back soon.
> 
> Edit to add: this chapter was something like 300 words away from getting to 100k so I shamelessly added even more bullshit to it and feel like I have to confess.

Trying to sleep while his conversation with Evallan still looped in his mind was impossible. Dorian had known if he approached it exactly as he wanted- said as much what he _meant_ to say as able, it would not be a simple discussion. Everything was serious in the Keeper's world, a world built on principles and grief and not much else.

The more he thought about it while the elf slumbered next to him, the more his respect matched his irritation. Dorian knew he could not live similarly if put to the task, and had to admire the tenacity in that focus. However he still regarded Evallan's single-mindedness as self-destructive rather than noble.

_How noble is it when you simply refuse to be a person!?_

_And there's no point trying to argue about any of it-_

_It's not even close to my place!_

_But he wouldn't let me discard the amulet- that_ means _something._

_It connects us still._

A throb in his shoulder forced the muscle to twitch, a spasm running through the hand linked to Evallan's. He hadn't the time to fully heal his injuries- aware of the elf facing Marcus' disapproval alone, he was incapable of sitting still. By the time it was his turn to be examined, they'd already taken a frustrating length of time. When they finally moved from his facial abrasions to the torn muscle, he could no longer stand it and began to wrench himself free.

“ _That's it! I'm fine! We're leaving tomorrow, anyway!”_

“ _So why are you in such a rush? Stop squirming!”_

“ _No, damn it! Some of us have other duties!”_

“ _What duty do you have!?- Like you said, we're leaving tomor-”_

He'd already been gone from the healer's tent, searching desperately for Evallan. He'd want to isolate himself but even that was unsafe, whether or not the Keeper admitted it.

Dorian had realised quickly the camp Evallan bid them leave behind was not on whim- he sought to return. Of course he wasn't on the cot as any normal person would be but Dorian had no trouble locating him- there was little else to intrigue a spirit than the ritual chamber.

So there he found them, wandering the alcove pensively, sometimes stopping to touch the wall. They didn't react to his presence until he tapped them on the shoulder and then it was just Evallan, falling limply into his arms.

And of course, cementing him to the ground for some time.

_Well, it all worked out._

He strained against the twitching in his digits, his disrupted shoulder manipulating the nerves so they danced and itched against his will. A disturbed noise was issued from Evallan and Dorian hastened to apologise as the elf unlocked their fingers, only to have a face smothered into his neck and an arm laid across his torso.

“I-um...”

A fitful sigh escaped the Keeper, like an impatient canine, burying more eagerly into Dorian's form.

“Alright... _fine.”_ He whispered, fighting amusement- and many other things.

_You wouldn't allow this of yourself if you were more conscious of it,_

_but what am I to do?! You're like an overgrown mabari!_

Admittedly he felt more secure when they were pinned against each other like this. Maybe he could sleep and imagine it was a common occurrence.

\--

There was no accounting for time in the Deep Roads but Dorian had the impression it was early morning. He concluded this based on the most reliable clock he had access to- Evallan, who was already awake but had yet to rise. This Dorian concluded because his grip was empty, the hand he'd slept clutching now crept along his jaw.

Wading through the mist of a death-sleep, he felt the warmth emanating from the relaxed elf and decided to feign unconsciousness. He was surprised Evallan had done nothing to separate them- if anything they were more intertwined, the Keeper inspecting Dorian's barely-recovered scrapes.

He scrunched his eyelids to prevent their reactive flickering but Evallan was too perceptive- he made to draw his hand away and Dorian grabbed it without thought. Stubbornly and with eyes closed, he pressed his face into the usurped palm.

“...Are you awake?” Evallan inquired with a hint of suspicion, though allowed his hand to be held captive.

“No.” Dorian's voice was muffled against the elf's skin and he knew it tickled because of the tiny, almost undetectable sound that left him.

“Yes you are.” He admonished, tender-voiced, splaying fingers across Dorian's profile. “And you did not see to your injuries properly.”

He finally opened his eyes, exhaling.

“I said I was worried about you, didn't I?”

“You should not worry for me.” He uttered quietly, peering at their linked hands as if considering to reclaim his own.

“Well if I don't, who will?” Dorian grinned, as endearing as he could make himself while covered in dirt and blood. “No one else even seems to realise you might have actually died in that rockfall.”

“It is assumed that I have a plan, and that I know what I am doing.” He explained idly, still regarding their joint fingers.

“But you didn't!” Dorian's grin broadened. “You were worried about Villyen...That's really why you don't want him here, isn't it? You know whenever you see him, you'll worry so much you'll be compromised.”

Evallan breathed out some exasperation, attention drifting to target Dorian. He didn't confirm the theory- but he didn't need to, the truth of it was unquestionable.

“And who will worry for you, Dorian Pavus?” He asked in utmost solemnity- even looking quite melancholic. Dorian laughed it off, squeezing the stolen hand while it was still in his possession.

“Andraste worries for all her children, they say.” Incapable of leashing the impulse, he planted a kiss on one of Evallan's knuckles and was pleased he didn't pull away “And _you're_ not Andrastian, so maybe you should just let her worry about it.”

This was received by an unimpressed exhale as the elf retrieved his limb, leaving Dorian convinced he'd had enough of the feigned domesticity. Therefore he was a little startled when Evallan straightened only enough to hover above him, a hand braced against the bedding near his shoulder.

“You are rather stupid, are you aware?” He said it as if at a total loss- Dorian beamed up at him.

“It adds to my charm, wouldn't you say?”

Evallan stared at him intently, mute, complexion reddening. Weighing to himself how close he dared get, perhaps. Even with the intimate undertones, Dorian had to admit Evallan's usual intensity was somewhat intimidating- though not in anyway that deterred him. If anything he felt urged to close the miniscule space between the two, but the seriousness of the elf's gaze dictated it wasn't for him to do so.

He willed himself against any reaction that might lessen the Keeper's nerve and was puzzling over what those might even be, when Evallan looked away. Cursing to himself in Dalish, he clambered out from their bedding to organise and pack.

_Damn you, Pavus! What did I do?!_

_Did I blink!? Did I twitch!?_

Once the flare of insecurity simmered, he accepted he'd likely done nothing. Evallan battled with himself- Dorian was just something of an unfortunate bystander.

“We should leave early,” Evallan spoke over the nervous turmoil of his thoughts, back to Dorian. “The sooner we return, the less reason Marcus has to complain that we left- or to notice, if we are lucky.”

“Right- of course-” He motioned to assist but was waved away, the elf frowning.

“You are injured, it is best to save your strength until we leave- I cannot carry all this on my own.”

“It's only the one shoulder, Evallan, I have the other arm-”

“The wound has impacted your nerves overall, I have seen it. You must rest.” He absorbed himself in shuffling gear around in a dismissive way. Dorian was unbothered.

“Well if you can see it so bloody well, why don't you just heal it?” He flashed his teeth in a slight taunt, crouching next to Evallan despite the insistence he do otherwise.

“It is somewhat beyond my skill- if I was to heal you, you will be left with a scar.”

“Not your forte, is it?”

Evallan grunted in lieu of a response.

“Is that why you have so many?” Dorian asked in genuine intrigue, reaching to brush a few slivers of firm tissue aside Evallan's face. He hadn't really considered the action and felt a little guilty when the elf froze beneath his touch, though did not shy away.

_It's like I burst a bloody dam when I kissed him._

_It feels natural to touch him, I just....I hardly realise._

Before he could apologise, Evallan was talking over the intrusion, pretending as though Dorian's hand wasn't lingering at his cheek.

“Partly,” He didn't make eye contact, forcing himself to focus on the chore ahead. “My vessel can sustain damage to a higher extent than other living things. I sometimes do not notice I am injured.”

“That makes sense,” Dorian mused casually. “Come to think of it, I don't remember you seeing a healer since we started- and I know for a fact that Ogre wounded you.”

“Mhm.” Evallan continued packing. Dorian studied his profile for a time before speaking again.

“It's probably going to scar anyway though, Evallan, with how little attention it's been given- and I _would_ like to help. We'll be done faster that way, won't we?”

The Keeper exhaled but still hobbled in his awkward sitting posture to face Dorian, brow furrowed and characteristically stern.

“Let me see.” He commanded in a sheepish grumble, pointing at Dorian's robes but too polite to simply undress him- that put him a rung above most healers, Dorian thought with a smirk.

He pulled at his collar and the cinch at his waist until he could slip the fabric to one side and leave it hanging, torso half-exposed, smiling pleasantly in the hope Evallan wouldn't have a heart attack. The scenario brought to mind how he'd teased the elf during their bouts and it occurred to him Evallan perhaps was more concerned by the proximity- not any scarring.

Confirming this was the uneasiness of his wandering gaze, settling on the unveiled shoulder as he muttered.

“Turn, please.”

Dorian obeyed, unable to overpower the grin spreading across his features as he jested.

“What polite bedside manner you have, Keeper!” He heard a sigh of exasperation behind him. “Much better than the usual manhandling I'd be subject to.”

“Do not speak so much.” The elf directed in a low huff. Fingertips pressed gingerly into the tender flesh at the back of his shoulder, not enough to cause pain.

“It is not so bad- you were very fortunate.” Evallan said more normally. A thrum of soothing magic spread from his fingers, the colourless glow of the spell illuminating the tent.

“I was trying to keep moving, but that thing was bloody fast.” Dorian confessed, flashes of a battle he hardly processed resurfacing.

“This Blight has given birth to many such anomalies. The more far-removed they are from what they were, the deadlier they become.” He recomposed further while indulging in simple conversation. “It was smaller than the Ogre, I imagine that reassured you.”

Digesting all this, Dorian hung his head in regret.

“I shouldn't have let Elias follow me.”

“He is your friend, no?” The light of his cast dimmed, Evallan probed along the mended area. “I doubt you could have stopped him.”

“I should have tried....but I had it in my mind that he'd stay back, that he'd be alright. I shouldn't have listened to that certainty- I should have been more cautious.” He dropped his face into his hand, murmuring into it.

“...I wish you had remained where you were.” The Keeper admitted. “But I also know if you had, that creature would have dropped into our centre after decimating our line, and we would be scattered. We would have killed it, but not with enough Wardens left to continue pursuit. The Legion would face the Darkspawn retreat with no reinforcement, and Marcus would have more to scream about- even if he refuses to see.”

_I did what was necessary, then,_ Dorian thought miserably, _and my friend was the collateral._

Refusing to say something so self-pitying in front of the Keeper, he derailed.

“So, how does it look?” Craning his head around, unable to accomplish the angle to view the wound.

“You have a scar.” Evallan announced with the glimmer of a smile and backed away, leaving Dorian to wrestle into his clothing.

“My first one!” He self-congratulated, head pushing through robes. “Too bad it's not in a more visible location, Titus would be impressed!”

“Not your first,” Evallan corrected, yet hesitated when Dorian perked a brow- he still forced himself to clarify. “Your hands- you have a few abrasions.”

“Oh?” He glanced, perused the two or three blemishes that had never fully dissipated, snickering once he understood. “Those are from _you!_ Hitting my bloody hands with Lightbringer- because you don't play fair!”

“Yes.” Evallan breathed out tensely and whirled back towards their task, giving off an air that disallowed further talk- or maybe Dorian imagined the temperature lowering. He reflected on what a peculiar thing it was to feel bashful over, then decided it made perfect sense for someone like the Keeper.

_Well, he can feel embarrassed all he wants!_

_I'll treasure these all the same._

After briefly admiring one of the delicate cuts, he hastened to aid in gathering scattered items and tucking them into their respective places. He made a point not to bother Evallan- even helping him deconstruct the tent with only necessary speech. It was unavoidable to feel he'd encroached on the elf's boundaries and time more than enough.

_I_ did _get him in trouble...then again, he also got_ me _in trouble_

_I'd say we're even...but Maker,_

_I really need to leave him to salvage some dignity from all this._

While they made the trek back to camp, weighed down by anything of use they were to haul, Evallan advised;

“You should return to the mages, and remain with them for the rest of the journey.”

“Noted,” Dorian agreed, shrugging. “Not that it'll do much good for me at this point- I doubt Marcus will forget I burned that cloak, regardless of what else he decides to forgive.”

“I am hoping he forgets that part, at least.” As quietly as he said it, the sincerity of that hope was clear.

They parted ways at the camp after unburdening themselves of the equipment. Evallan grim-faced as he made to report to the Templars, Dorian brooding as he thought of mingling with the mages- and without Elias. His absence was more than highlighted now- predictably, the other mages refused to meet Dorian's eye and exchanged secretive words as he passed.

_I'd rather not imagine what they think they know._

He considered gravitating to Villyen- who was also alone, either by choice or because no one wanted to approach a smaller version of Evallan. A less lethal and perhaps more talkative hailstorm, but a hailstorm nonetheless. After thinking it over, he decided Villyen wouldn't stomach his company without his brother present. Villyen had aided him in the necessity of the moment- that was something the Lavellan Clan understood more than anyone- but on a personal level, the young elf hardly seemed to favour him.

Seeing no option but to plop himself on a rock at the fringes of the group, he sat and observed as the remnants of their camp were gathered, shoved into carts and rolled away. When it was finally time to get into formation he heard a mage snicker something near him and knew it was decidedly impolite, though the words eluded.

Dorian had to exercise all his self-control not to swivel around and wallop the man, then smiled bitterly at the thought the Keeper's temperament was rubbing off on him- or highlighting his own.

Their exodus from the Deep Roads went by without delay. The only thing left behind after their demolishing of the passages were whatever creatures Villyen had been hunting- if the elf hadn't endangered them.

When they ascended into daylight, they found their summit camp ravaged by several attacks but still standing, with few casualties from the force that stood guard. Words were exchanged between Marcus and other commanders, Dorian was too far to hear, nor did he try. All they were doing was packing essentials and regrouping.

They separated from there, mages and Templars all aiming for their respective towers. He somehow hadn't spotted Evallan in all this time and next he did, they were departing camp when the Keeper tore by on a powerful dark horse. A blur of black-and-white that barrelled on until it led their procession, only then relaxing their pace.

_Marcus probably thinks it'll keep him out of trouble if he's horsed._

He considered this with some amusement, watching as beast and rider pranced around in an eager circle, waiting for others to catch up. Marcus rampaged down the slope on his own savage mount, bellowing something indiscernible. From what Dorian could tell, Evallan didn't so much as offer him a word before darting away, almost challenging.

_He didn't think that through, obviously!_

Despite this their travel went by with little disruption, miserable as it was. Dorian was more than sick of walking, barely thankful when they were on less uneven terrain and trod abandoned farmlands. All the while his thoughts stewed on Elias, the Wardens, his birthright, Evallan, his stupid display with the cloak...

The march was lonely and he was grateful for his one, occasional distraction; Evallan wasn't just babysat, he was also ensuring nothing slowed their progress. Several times he was treated to the show of the Keeper galloping upon Darkspawn stragglers, either running them down, striking them with Lightbringer or icing them over. Sometimes all three, if the assailant was persistent enough.

_At least I get to watch him show off._

Dorian supposed at this pace they would would arrive late at night but without having to camp- Marcus probably insisted they make haste. He could almost hear the man's voice garbling something akin to _'let's fucking get the fuck back and fucking deal with this fucking mess you've fucking left me fucking with Lavellan. Fuck.'._

As they neared their destination the Templar indeed became irate. On one occasion he decided Lavellan wasn't dealing with their minor threats efficiently enough, horse and rider appearing from nowhere to smash through a target while he yelled something incoherent.

The second time this occurred their steeds or weapons almost clashed, Dorian didn't quite see. All he witnessed was the two rearing back and shouting hateful gibberish at the other, unable at this distance to make it out as anything else. Another Templar- Bauer, it looked like- sidled between them with hands raised but whatever he said only redirected their outrage. For some time, they shouted at him instead.

Somehow amidst all this emerged an unsteady agreement, both riders storming off and leaving poor Bauer coughing in their dust.

Night had fallen completely by the time they were filing through the tower gates, candlelight waving them home, flickering from high windows. Torches burned brightly along the outer walls, offering warmth against the evening chill. The whole scene made Dorian sleepy, greatly craving the furs of his bed- but he spied Evallan perched like a half-conscious sentinel on his horse, to one side so he could count heads as they filtered through the gate.

_Marcus really wants you out of trouble, doesn't he?_

Why else force upon the Keeper such a banal task? It was below grunt work. Feeling sympathetic, he stowed himself away in the shadow of the gate, leaving everyone to pass. Eventually the last mage trailed after the others and after a moment of silence he heard Evallan begin to swear in his native tongue.

“I'm down here.” He offered cheerfully, leaning so Evallan could see.

The elf unloosed more vulgarities as he hopped off his mount, leading by it's reigns.

“You did not have to wait for me.”

“Fila will be waiting for us, you know,” Dorian excused, accompanying Evallan to the stable. “I'm already walking through without Elias- if I walk through without _either_ of you, she'll be hysterical wondering what happened!”

The Keeper eyed him doubtfully but otherwise permitted the deceit. Leaving the horse to a stable-hand, they next made for the armoury to discard their weapons.

“As glad as I was to leave the tower,” Dorian noted, placing his hilt on its usual stand. “I'll be just as glad never to visit the blighted Deep Roads again.”

“I feel the same every time.” Evallan added, hooking Lightbringer into it's far more elaborate hold- it would essentially be shackled once he left, as if that could prevent it's summoning. By the brief description Evallan gave of his Harrowing, Dorian suspected nothing at their disposal could truly restrain Lightbringer. That the elf submitted to this arrangement at all was a courtesy.

“Yet, there is always reason to return. Pray it is not you or your fellows they send next time.”

“Oh I'll be praying, certainly!” Dorian joked and they ambled towards the tower stairs. The yearning for bath and bed was becoming critical the longer he had to fight exhaustion.

They were the last through the doors but certainly must have earned the loudest reception, between Titus' and Fila's welcoming shouts. The excitable pair mobbed them unreservedly- much to Evallan's displeasure, Dorian was sure! His expression at least was passive enough, though weary.

“You're both okay! Neither of you are hurt?” Fila was prompt in her fussing, surveying them and even dusting off their robes- to no success.

“Did you kill a lot of Darkspawn?” Titus inquired, beaming and rocking on his heels. “Did you get me anything?”

“ _Get you anything!?”_ Dorian spluttered, hugging the pests- and was satisfied Fila dragged her reluctant Keeper into the huddle. “I was in the _bloody Deep Roads!_ What would I get you!?”

“ _Of course_ you didn't get me anything!” Titus mock-criticised, rolling his eyes. “Never think of anyone but yourself!”

“He was busy slaying Darkspawn Ogres.” Evallan informed seriously, having for now yielded to his role in the mage sandwich.

_Was that a note of pride I hear, Keeper Lavellan?_

Dorian smirked to himself, feeling gratified even while Titus' exclaimed disbelief.

“He did _not!_ You did _not!”_

“He did.”

“ _I did!_ ” Dorian's smirk evolved into a grin.

“If the Keeper said he did it,” Fila said, folding her arms in resolution. “Then it must have happened.”

“That's great and everything,” Katerina's voice sliced through their cheer and Dorian noticed her standing further on, face grim. _“But where's Elias?”_

He'd been dreading this above all else. Their huddle loosed and Dorian struggled for words, saying lamely;

“He's with the Wardens now.”

“ _What..?”_ She neared the group, furrowing her brow. “What do you _mean? How?”_

“He caught Blight- he might survive if they take him, that's all I really understood...” His mouth dried as he beheld the grief watering her eyes, mouth stammering without him. “He ran after me- I'm sorry, Kat. I didn't look out for him the way I should have.”

“ _What do you mean you didn't look out for him!?”_ She ground out, wiping a tear before it could shed. He didn't know what to say- even with time to think, he had no angle of approach that didn't lead to guilt- to blaming himself. Katerina and Elias had been inseparable friends for years- there was no question in Dorian's mind that if she'd been present, she wouldn't have allowed him to throw caution to the wind.

Toiling over this while he stared regretfully at Katerina's strained features, it was Evallan who offered a different perspective;

“Your friends took a great risk to keep our forces, and our mission, intact,” He said it gently, though there was an obvious edge of discomfort. “Caladrius was blighted for that act, but the Wardens had seen his worth. With them, he may survive.”

She appeared to settle at that. Dorian wondered how much was the words themselves and how much was the shock that Keeper Lavellan spoke directly to her, addressing her friend by name and citing his worth.

“I...” She trailed off clumsily, pursing her lips and huffing through her nostrils. “Thank you, Keeper Lavellan...I should write to his parents before they hear some other way- and throw a fit...”

With that she drifted away, looking more at her hands or her shoes than the space ahead. Guilt hammered against Dorian's ribcage as persistently as the beating of his heart but he could find no solution- except to exist with it as a part of himself.

“It was not your fault.” Evallan corrected his thoughts in a slight growl.

“You didn't really see- you don't know.”

“I know you both would do what is necessary,” He countered, firm. “That is enough.”

“I don't really want to argue about it- I want a bath.” Dorian tugged at his grimy clothes.

“You _need_ a bath!” Titus snorted, happy to add to less morose topics.

“You get a little dirty when you're slaying Ogres!” Dorian nudged Evallan, smiling warmly. “Bright and early tomorrow, then?”

“What?” The Keeper failed to comprehend at first. “To spar? You are hardly in need of my instruction any longer.”

“Oh _please,_ Eldest!” Fila piped in, slumping into her clan-brother and whining. “Don't leave him to drive _us_ all crazy! He never knows what to do with himself!”

“ _And_ it's always everyone else's problem!” Titus echoed.

_Maker! I'd call them both traitors if they weren't helping me!_

“They're right, you know,” Dorian threw a shameless smile Evallan's direction. “If you don't keep me busy, the whole tower will soon be rioting.”

The elf lowered his gaze, issuing a litany of vulgar Dalish that ended in an airy laugh, touching his forehead as if to bless himself.

“For the safety of the tower, then. _'Bright and early tomorrow'_ , Dorian Pavus.”

Over-satisfied by the compliance, he had to restrain himself from kissing the damn useless fool before sauntering off for a well-deserved bath.

\--

It was almost strange to be back in the dining hall, surrounded by the bickering and gossip of mages with unabashed daylight shining through the windows. At least twice in the Deep Roads, Dorian thought he'd never sit for another tense breakfast. He hadn't quite missed it but the affirmation of his mortality was humbling.

It led to thoughts of Elias but all he could do was assure himself his friend was fine- he had to be. Thinking otherwise led to places too dark and unbearable.

Both he and Katerina moped over their food more than ate, Fila and Titus anxiously sat at the same table, sometimes fidgeting with their cutlery.

“I can't believe you're making Eldest wait for you, Dorian,” Fila broke the silence. “After we had to convince him to keep sparring with you! You could have woke earlier.”

“Oh yes, convinced him by being quite unflattering!” Dorian retorted with no true bite.

“Id wab beliebable, bighd?” Titus garbled through a full mouth.

“Entirely too believable, indeed!” He guffawed and Fila launched into scolding Titus for his manners, when Dorian noted two young apprentice mages leaning on their table, ogling as if at a puppet-show.

“...Could we help you?” Dorian questioned, raising a brow.

They glanced at each other, fixed their eyes back on the Tevinter mage.

“Is it true you killed an Ogre in the Deep Roads?” The braver of the pair inquired.

“I- not on my own- obviously,” He laughed bashfully, rubbing his neck. “But it happened, certainly.”

“And you did it with a sword?” The child asked, visibly awestruck.

“With a sword, yes,” He chuckled, glanced around for aid, saw his friends equally nonplussed. “A sword of fire, actually- the best kind of sword.”

Before they could interrogate further, the voice of an adult called above the various chatter.

“ _There_ you are!- Stop bothering the Senior Mages, come here and finish up!”

The curious duo scuttled away, leaving Dorian with a mystified smile.

“Someone's getting a reputation.” Titus observed, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Not a wholly good one, I think,” He snickered in response. “But enough to impress children, apparently!”

“You're in good spirits about it, at least.” Katerina said pointedly, stabbing at her food as if it offended her.

“...And I shouldn't be?” Dorian asked without really considering what she meant.

“I just don't think it's right,” She dropped her fork. “We don't even know if Elias is _alive,_ and you're joking about killing Ogres and still fooling around with Lavellan.”

He slouched, teething on the inside of his cheek before formulating a reply- poor as it was.

“I'm not joking about anything, Kat.” He wrestled with his feelings, trying to vocalise them. “But I _need_ to believe he's alright- until I know otherwise- that's the only way I know how to live with it.”

“I just don't understand,” She ground out stubbornly, but the grief in her stare was evident. “You both came back, and he didn't- I don't understand that.”

“You think I don't blame myself?” His voice whined and he fought to regulate it. “Of course I do! That's why I have to tell myself he's fine! If I can believe my- my sheer fucking _incompetence_ served a greater purpose-”

“I'm sorry, Dorian,” She interjected, apparently seeing something in his face that deflated her. “He was your friend too, I know. I just wish I was there.”

Extending his hand across the table, he gripped hers with a sympathetic sigh.

“I wish you were too, Kat. I know you would have protected him.”

After a moment of this strained, sombre pause, Fila cut in nervously.

“...Are you done arguing about this now?”

“None of us were there,” Titus added, carefully-toned. “But the Keeper told us what happened. So that's what I believe.”

Dorian wasn't as confident. Wordlessly, he pushed from the table and stalked out of the hall, aiming for the sparring ground where Evallan waited. It was his routine to bid the Keeper a good morning before collecting his weapon from the armoury. On this occasion however he was so fixated on his cynical meanderings that he stomped by, not speaking until he returned with his sword.

“Alright. Let's have at it, then.” He said with little enthusiasm once facing Evallan, blade extended.

The elf examined him with a hint of concern but avoided interrogating him at first. After a minute or so of rebuffing Dorian's clumsy, over-brutish lunges, he halted and unfurled to his full height, lofting a brow.

“You...are upset.” He observed coolly.

“ _Of course I'm upset!”_ Dorian blurted, waving his sword-bearing arm. “My friend has been damned to _Maker-knows-what_ and it's all my fault!”

Evallan was instantly distressed. Face morphing into aggravated lines, he threw down Lightbringer and barked.

“ _It was not your fault!_ He is his own person- he understood what he did!”

He had a guess as to why the elf took this so personally, so quickly- and didn't have the sense to keep his assumption to himself.

“Are you talking to me- or to yourself?!” He bit out, perhaps unkindly. “Or do you not blame yourself for Amrallan's death?”

A cold wind swept over the grounds- he would have thought it imagined if it weren't for the sting of grit tickling his face and irritating his eyes. The source of it- Evallan- regarded him with features dark and knuckles white from tension.

“Tread _lightly_.” The message was blatant in the frost of his tone- regardless of anything between them, Evallan would strike him down if Amrallan were dishonoured.

Yet Dorian was unperturbed- he knew that whatever cruel notion the Keeper imagined, he was thinking just the opposite.

“ _You're not understanding!-_ That _really_ wasn't your fault, Evallan!” He flailed his arms idiotically as he rambled. “You were just a boy!- A stupid, sulky boy with a magic sword and too much responsibility for your bloody age! I'm a grown man and Elias is my friend!- _I should have known better!”_

“ _He is also a grown man!”_ Evallan deflected fiercely, at least forgiving or ignoring the mention of his brother. “He did not have to follow you- _he made a choice!”_

“It doesn't matter! We left him out there alone- we _both_ did!” He didn't cease gushing emotion, arms overly-animated the entire time. “You could have helped him! You could have saved anyone on that bloody field!- You could have stayed at your post!- And out of all the bloody things you could have bloody done- anyone else you could have saved!-”

Dorian hurled his own weapon into the dirt, marching forward a few steps as he glowered up at Evallan with tearful eyes, struggling to understand himself why he was so enraged.

“Why did you have to save _me,_ Evallan?!”

For what felt like an eternity the Keeper merely stood, blinking at Dorian, blank-faced and -

_Hurt._

_Oh Maker, I've actually bloody hurt him._

He didn't have the time to stew, Evallan mustering an answer that started in a gasp and ended in an indignant snarl.

“How can you ask me such?- _You know why!”_

“Then pretend I don't!” Dorian practically begged, hysterical as his manner still was. “Explain it to me like I don't know a bloody thing because I'm just too bloody stupid!”

With a frustrated growl and a swift motion the elf closed the gap between them, fingers clutching Dorian in their death-grip, eyes sharp.

“You were all that I saw, damn you.” He confessed in a harsh whisper, unconsciously kneading into Dorian's arm. “I saw your cast above the field and that is _all_ I saw. I did not see your friend- I did not see the blighted Emissary- _I did not see those I passed to reach you.”_

He shrank beneath the severity in the admittance, shame replacing all the misdirected frustration he'd carelessly unloaded. If their roles were reversed, Dorian would have reacted the same, yet he berated the man for valuing his life. He lowered his head, feeling more unworthy than he already had.

Evallan breathed out, his clutch loosening but not detaching.

“And at the time...” He mumbled, sounding as small as Dorian felt. “...You seemed grateful.”

Remembering how he'd expressed that gratitude, his face flushed. Peeking at Evallan, he spied a feint smile and similarly coloured cheeks. The desire to seek physical comfort from the elf agonised him- even if he allowed it, right now Dorian would be convinced it was from sympathy, therefore worsening his dissatisfaction.

“Well- at the time-” He stuttered, trying to bat away the recollection. “I hadn't realised we'd doomed my friend through our actions.”

“You did not doom him!” Evallan snapped- though subdued, compared to their prior exclamations. “You do not even yet know his fate!”

Yanking from the Keeper's hold, he swiped up his sword and wavered into sparring position, cursing all the while.

“I don't want to argue about this, damn it!” He spat, poising his blade for attack. “Just- just do what you do best and make a bloody fool of me, will you?!

He was scrutinised passively for some time, Evallan's thoughts unreadable.

“As you say.” The Keeper yielded with a low mutter and was rapidly upon Dorian, Lightbringer snatched from the ground and weaved madly. Dorian stumbled, having to lash with equal frenzy to avoid being overwhelmed.

Initially he feared he'd wounded Evallan's unpredictable feelings enough the elf wished to fulfil Dorian's request- to make a fool of him. There was little mercy in the onslaught- if Dorian hadn't recently tasted battle, he would have relented. To elude him, Dorian had to focus wholly on his own reactions, countering as viciously as he was assaulted.

As this dragged on, his stamina depleted, causing him to slow. Evallan seamlessly matched his pace and it occurred to him then- the elf aimed to wear him out in order to vent his stress. He felt more than undeserving of this and sharpened his concentration so he wouldn't dwell.

To that end he sought to disarm. In their previous bouts he'd noted an upwards strike was clumsy for Evallan to block, due to the odd way he tended to grasp his sword. Yet during this session his grip was adamant no matter the angle and Dorian soon caught why, easing back with an idle grin.

“ _I've_ noticed something.” He announced, self-congratulatory.

“Oh?” Evallan considered him beyond the tip of his blade. “I will alert the Council of Heralds immediately.”

Dorian snorted, rolling his eyes- alright, he probably deserved _a little_ sarcasm after that tantrum.

“Oh ha-ha! You're _funny,_ actually! Has anyone ever told you that? _Hilarious!”_ He playfully smacked Lightbringer with his burning blade, earning a feint smirk from Evallan.

“And what shall I be relaying in this missive?” He feigned politeness.

Dorian rolled his eyes, reflecting that of course on the rarity Evallan thought of a joke, he'd hammer it into the ground.

“You've changed how you grip your sword.”

“You are only now realising?” Evallan skirted around Dorian, spinning Lightbringer deftly around his wrist- _clearly_ showing off! “The Council will be disappointed to receive dated news.”

“Alright, alright!” He laughed, unable to help admiring the obnoxious display. “When did you change it, then?”

“Shortly after the bout when you threw me.” He stated, circling Dorian thoughtfully- _too_ bloody thoughtfully! Dorian tightened the fingers around his sword, watching his sparring partner with a knowing smile.

“You mean when I _didn't_ throw you.” He reminded, edging from the elf's steady but winding approach.

“When you did not throw me.”

“It's because I got too close, wasn't it?” Dorian teased, wondering if he could distract. “And you were trying to hide the- well, you know..”

“I am surprised you did not notice my grip in the Deep Roads.” Evallan seemed to side-step the attempt.

“Well, I wasn't concerned by that in the Deep Roads!” He chortled, hiding behind his sword- the elf's heel was testing the ground in a way Dorian recognised- and disliked.

“But it concerns you now?” A corner of his mouth tugged and in a second Evallan pounced, Lightbringer clashing with Dorian's blade, hardly achieving the block in time.

“ _Yes, actually!”_ He hooted, the strain of everything simply melting. “Right now it concerns me very much!”

For hours they sparred, breaking for meals only to continue until dusk touched the sky. Dorian was surprised either of them had the energy. He supposed the Deep Roads had left them with much to work through. Lacking other activities to process their woes, they bounced them off the other.

By the end of it they sat on the ground, utilising Evallan's usual bench as a backrest rather than a seat, thoroughly exhausted, damp and wilted from sweat. Watching day give way to night, Evallan asked with the flash of a smile.

“Feeling better?”

“I am, actually.” Stretching and yawning, when he relaxed it was with his head on the elf's shoulder. He thought to remove it, except the Keeper's hand slunk to rest at the back of his neck, a slight but welcoming touch. Eyes closed, he tried not to think of returning to bed alone, indulging in the last caresses of sunlight warming his face.

\--

“Nothing from Elias?” Dorian asked hopefully, watching Katerina rifle through her few letters over breakfast.

“No...” She tossed the thin pile onto the table, jaw clenched.

“That doesn't mean anything!” Titus insisted from beside Fila. “It's only been a few days.”

“We don't know when they'll even be able to send a courier,” Fila agreed, though with a hint of caution. “Let alone from where, or when they'll get here...”

Dorian nor Katerina had much to say to that, regarding their food sourly.

_If he's- dead- Maker, I don't know if I could forgive myself._

Just as he was slumping on his elbow, set to silently berate himself, a gauntlet-covered hand slapped his shoulder. Without turning, he had a guess as to who it belonged, facing Marcus Rorick's piercing eyes.

“I-”

“You're coming with me,” Marcus dictated, wrangling Dorian to his feet. “And before you ask- yeah, this time, you _did_ do something.”

He'd considered it a blessing Marcus hadn't confronted him sooner. He should have known the cloak business- and perhaps the abandonment of his post- was another thing on a long list of issues to rectify. Evidently it was time to cross this one off.

Offering his friends a smile he aimed to be encouraging but felt sickly on his lips, he stood and permitted himself to be steered about the tower- to the First Enchanter's office. He couldn't avoid feeling like an apprentice about to be lectured.

Practically thrown into the room, he dropped into the seat at the other end of Irving's desk, fighting to keep features vacant, posture rigid. Greagoir was present this time, statuesque beside the First Enchanter, arms folded. Irving himself appeared worn down by whatever deliberations had taken place, the creases along his face especially prominent.

Once Marcus stomped into a corner to glower at the whole scene, Irving began, tapping his fingers on the desk in a suggestion that he found this as trying as Dorian, in his own way.

“I would like to say it is good to see you, Pavus,” He steepled his fingers, exhaling. “Unfortunately, it has been reported to us you had quite the adventure in the Deep Roads.”

“Yes, well, you know,” Dorian blathered unconsciously. “The Deep Roads are very....deep. So much potential for adventure with all that....depth- all the roads, and such.”

_Maker, what am I_ saying?

From the incredulous way they were looking at him, he knew they thought the same.

“I am...sure that is the case,” Irving said with a confused frown. “And in truth, much that has been reported casts you in a favourable light. Though you were not where you should have been, everywhere you appeared seemed to benefit. Not to mention, prancing around in a Templar cloak on its own is not exactly a high offence...

However...” _Oh, there it is._ “You then destroyed that cloak once sent away...and though I am sure you did not mean it as an act of dissent...the Chantry, and even those around you, will still regard it as one. Are you beginning to see the predicament you have made for us?”

“I...I think so, First Enchanter- but I must say, you're completely correct. I certainly wasn't thinking of dissenting when I burned that cloak.”

“And I believe you,” He issued a haggard breathe. “However, others may feel encouraged by your action. If I do nothing, we could be dealing with more than a burnt cloak. And if I do nothing personally, the Chantry will exact whatever retribution _they_ feel is necessary, and their course of action is likely to be more...severe.”

“More severe than _what_ exactly?” Dorian had an assumption- it made his skin crawl.

“Commander Marcus believes the minimum of a week in isolation is prudent, Greagoir agrees,” He sighed again, clearly having debated this for some time. “I must concede this cannot go unaddressed...and so, we have settled on three days in isolation.”

“Ah, well...” He said through a wry grin, masking his nerves. “I can't exactly refuse, I imagine?”

Marcus' posture tensed as if he'd like to see Dorian try.

“You could...but it would be much ah, simpler, if you did not...” Irving cautioned, the trio seeming to loom over him expectantly.

“Well that's not much of a choice, is it?” He chuckled. “I suppose then, that I submit myself to the mercy of the Chantry, First Enchanter.”

The attention of the two seniors diverted to Marcus, who lurched from his corner and jabbed his chin at Dorian.

“On your feet, Pavus. Taking a walk to the cells.”

He would have dragged those feet if the Templar didn't promptly wrench into his shoulder, steering him out of the office and into the hall. Forcing himself to submit to that too, he leered at the space directly in front of him, raving internally.

_One thing! He told you to do one bloody thing!_

_Keep your mouth shut- do what you're told- don't attract attention to yourself!_

_Alright- that's three things- but-_

_I_ had _to attract attention to myself, didn't I?!_

_Why, how am I_ ever _to function otherwise?!_

Descending a spiral and turning into another hall, what he spied waiting for them at the end deepened his panic.

Someone must have told him- or he'd hunted for information when Dorian didn't arrive on schedule. Ether way, there Evallan stood; as rigid as an ice sculpture and his stare just as unmoving, centred on Marcus.

“Where are you taking him?” He demanded on their approach.

“Where do you think?” Marcus side-stepped the elf. “We let _one_ of these runts burn Chantry symbols, it'll give the others ideas.”

Dorian puzzled over how to prevent the madness before it started but Evallan was already growling an argument at Marcus' passing shoulder.

“It was done under my command, on my behalf. The punishment is mine.”

“That's funny,” Marcus was tempted to loiter for the sake of quarrelling. “Since I don't remember you giving an order- I remember _you_ looking more shocked than anyone.”

The Templar made to proceed, shoving Dorian onwards- only to be yanked by his armour.

“ _You will not.”_

“ _What I say about_ handling me, _Lavellan!?”_

All Dorian really comprehended of the next few moments was a screech of metal from behind, the Templar keeling over with a howl that was as indignant as pained. Later, he'd consider that Evallan must have taken advantage of an old wound or fault in the knight's armour- stomping somewhere against his leg.

However in that instant, all he registered was being roughly slammed from the two by a white-clad shoulder. Sprawled on the ground, a crunch resounded from above and when he hastened to right himself, he saw each man bristling at the other. Evallan clutched the bottom half of his face, crimson spilling everywhere- his other hand was a clenched fist, heel already braced for a lunge.

“ _You want to get thrown in a cell, too?!”_ Marcus roared, fighting to balance against the vulnerability in his stance. “I'll throw you _both_ in- _I don't give a shit!!”_

_They'll tear each other apart over a stupid bloody cloak-_

_over_ me, _damn it!_

“ _Stop!”_ He sprang in synchronicity with Evallan, bowling into him so they plummeted, Dorian fighting to pin furious limbs, the Keeper thrashing like a caught wyvern. That deceptive elven slightness really was no testament to the man's strength. Evallan had yet to identify the assailant and in his wilful aggression, holding him with force alone was impossible.

“ _Stop it, Evallan!”_ Dorian utilised words- the flailing ceased. “Think of your clan- think of your brother!”

He swayed onto his knees and beheld the living catastrophe staring up at him, seething like a geyser about to erupt, bared teeth stained red.

“You don't have to protect me, damn it!” He urged that bloody clueless face. “It'll be alright- I swear!”

Whether Evallan believed him or not, he snapped out of his fight response, laying stiffly and with face twitching until Dorian straightened, tugging the elf along. They were barely on their feet when Marcus lurched towards the pair, grabbing Dorian by the arm. To the Keeper he offered a sneer, clicking his tongue as if addressing a pet.

“Down, boy.”

Unable to withstand the mockery, Evallan spat a wad of blood at the Templar's feet, rattling off something in Dalish that would be profoundly hateful to anyone's ears, elf or no.

“Yeah, yeah,” Marcus lolled his eyes, swivelling back on course. “Eat shit and die, too.”

Dorian didn't have to look to know the Keeper glowered at their backs until they climbed down another stairwell.

“...Is he going to get in trouble?” He had to ask- it would drive him mad, to sit alone and wonder.

“ _Pfft,_ for that little slap-fight? Doesn't even raise magic on me. That's just how we _communicate.”_

He nodded in slow, grim comprehension, then hazarded to ask something else;

“ _'Eat shit and die'_...is that really what he said?”

“ _Eh?_ Like I fucking know,” The Templar shrugged. “But way back before I was commander, for a straight month all he'd say to me was _'eat shit and die, Templar'._ So I figure it's along those lines.”

“And what did you do to earn that?” His curiosity escaped before he had the mind to cage it- thankfully Marcus tolerated the conversation. Dorian's compliance and the lack of an elf shouting at him probably quelled his temper.

“Why do you think _I_ did anything?” Marcus grumbled in sincere offence. “Look, I get it...you see us scrap and you think I just like kicking elves. But I didn't try to make an enemy out of Lavellan- probably everyone's _tried_ being civil. Doesn't matter, we're Templars. In his eyes, he's got the right to be a pain in my arse and ignore any damn order he pleases.”

While they advanced down yet another hall and another spiral, Dorian calculated. There were few opportunities to pick the Templar Commander's brain- he had an idea or two as to what he might find.

“When this is all over...” He theorised aloud. “Lavellan will want his treaty fulfilled- that he and his clan are released. But you think he should swear to the Chantry, don't you?”

“Alright, look at it this way...” Marcus began with a long sigh- clearly this was a repeat discussion. “The Lavellans- they're all about responsibility, right? Well, what about their responsibility to Thedas- to us, as their neighbours? To the Chantry- as the institution providing for them? They're reckless- they have their brats commune with fucking demons, then choose a brat to host one of those demons, so we get an abomination of unknown power roaming free, and we're meant to allow that?”

“Lightbringer isn't a demon,” Dorian found himself defending. “If the structure of your argument is flawed from the onset, your conclusion will, of course, be rather cynical.”

“Even if it isn't,” Marcus countered with a grunt, leading Dorian through a rarely walked corridor. “What will it take to change that? You've seen it yourself- he's not always in control. But you think I should ease up on him, right? What you don't see is if I wasn't screaming in his ear, he'd do whatever the fuck he wants- whatever _'Lightbringer'_ tells him to.”

Their next set of stairs was tight and narrow, enveloping them in darkness within seconds. No windows here, the air became stagnant as they lowered. Dorian stifled his anxiety with dialogue.

“Perhaps he would act differently if at the end of all this, he would not be fighting those who were sworn as his allies- when it suited them.”

“Listen, Pavus,” He nudged Dorian to quicken his pace. “I don't know what that thing is- I don't know if he's blessed or fucking cursed. What I do know is something like that has to be on a leash, and him not recognising it endangers us all. He's not like us.”

“ _'Like us?'”_ Dorian was almost a little tickled. “You think there's more similarities between us two, than between him and myself?”

“Sure there are- the most important ones,” Marcus answered casually. “We're both human, and Andrastian- even if our people don't always agree on what that means.”

By now their vertical drop came to an end at a dingy basement of aged brick, sparse torchlight highlighting the edges of metal doors. A trickle of water reminiscent of the Deep Roads was the only sound other than their voices. Dorian swallowed his apprehension and regurgitated speech.

“And that trumps all else, does it?”

“They're not civilised, Pavus,” He led his charge down the row of cells. “They don't see things the way we do, don't even follow human law- Lavellan makes it a point _not_ to. Can you guess what a fucking pain that makes it to work with him? Younger ones, they can be taught to adapt...Others are beyond civilising.”

“It's a good thing I have no assertions of civilising him, then!” Dorian snorted.

The Templar stopped at the final cell, fiddling with some keys.

“I don't really blame you for not understanding,” Unlocking the door, it swung open with a shriek. “You look at him and you see your friend, some overgrown awkward kid who could kill us all by blinking but he doesn't, so isn't he such a nice, selfless guy, really?”

A still red-painted gauntlet gestured for Dorian to enter the cramped space. He yielded apprehensively, slinking into the tomb and immediately facing the last shred of light, Marcus still lecturing;

“You haven't seen him on the battlefield holding his guts in with one hand, killing Darkspawn with the other, and _still_ mouthing off when I give him an order.”

“I think I've seen enough.”

“You've seen parlour tricks.” He ground out. “We've _all_ seen parlour tricks. What that thing is capable of, and what it might do when the Blight's over? _That's_ what keeps _me_ up at night, Pavus.”

Dorian nodded- out of acknowledgement, not agreement. Walls of shadow pressed on him and all he could do was flash a whimsical smile, remarking;

“It's funny- sometimes I'm convinced he's the most civilised out of us all.”

Marcus wheezed in exaggeration, as if connecting something that disappointed.

“Then you're as fucking crazy as he is.”

A harrowing slam and he was imprisoned by the void itself, smothered by impenetrable black.

His first useless instinct was to sweep trembling hands over the door- feeling for something, anything to release the pressure of shadow crushing him. Ridges along the surface implied the upper half doubled as some form of window. No latch on his side- why would there be?

Trying to control his gasps- unsuccessfully- he steadied against the door and strived to reason with himself. The cell wasn't airtight- he wasn't _meant_ to suffocate. If he did, it would be due to his own hyperventilating.

Yet no matter the insistence of his mind, his body knew only one thing- that its lungs were being strangled. Harsh breathes billowed in his ears like a personal wind-storm as he crumpled to his knees. Forehead squashed against the door as if he could squeeze through the dents.

_I need to calm down- I need to-_

_I need to think!_

_Use your bloody_ brain, _Pavus!_

Half-formed words bounced rhythmically in his mind and it occurred to him- Evallan's song. He overturned all the hidden places in his memory, digging out scraps of syllables and rhyme, frantically binding together any sentence he could. There was no chance he could recollect it all- but the task might at least reign him in.

He viewed the grimy paves below as he worked, eyes adjusting slightly- not that there was anything to see. All the while his consciousness ran screaming, retreating from himself, the dingy cell blurring, melting, reforming...

A pattern gradually emerged from the ever-morphing floor and it was no longer that of the cell- wretched lines formed beneath his twitching fingers and it occurred to him what he beheld.

The circle of entrapment from the Deep Roads. His hand caught by the etchings- by his own will, and the will of another. Searing agony tore his nerves apart- deeper than his nerves, willpower wrung from him like a ripe fruit. Struggling worsened the unbearable sensation- still, he would struggle.

_'Ma vhenan...you must stop.'_

He tilted his head to make bleary eye-contact with the other prisoner, meeting a tired stare as cold and clear as ice.

_'What do you mean- stop?!'_ Dorian heard his own voice lash out.

_'You cannot break it. Neither can I.'_

The information choked him, buckling against the vile circle, tears stinging his eyes. For all his lover's absurd power and bottomless will, even he could not overwhelm the binding- and as was infuriatingly typical, he simply accepted it. Glancing at his face, Dorian knew the only thing the other mage considered was how soon he wished to die.

Now he heard his own voice plead, sobbing, babbling;

_'But I...I can't do this- I can't!'_

_'They must have known – the worst thing they could do to me-'_

_'I can't watch you die, amatus!'_

He was too ashamed of his own weakness to look at the man but knew he was studied- perhaps with sympathy, perhaps with regret.

_'...I can end it for you,'_ The recognisable voice said after a time- somehow both cool and warm. _'You must not struggle.'_

_'I'm sorry- I'm so sorry,'_ He bawled uncontrollably, filled with loathing for himself and for what he begged. _'Please- please, amatus- I'm sorry- but I can't-'_

_'Shh,'_ A new ripple of magic disturbed the symphony of the bind, Dorian felt it in his bones. _'For you, ma vhenan...the world, always.'_

Invisible needles punctured his lungs from the inside, deflating them- at least, that's how he experienced the cast. All the organs within his chest simply turned to stone, rendering them useless, the air left inside extinguished with a cough.

All the while he was aware of the other mage observing, completely static.

_Ah....even now...you would not cry for_ me, _would you?_

Yet the last image he processed were streams of moisture dripping from snowy cheeks.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

The side of his face hit the ground.

Darkness.

“Dorian!... _Dorian!!”_ The same voice from his hallucinatory horror beckoned him from the void, accompanied by fists on metal. Blinking and slowly sucking in air, Dorian noticed a square of light pooled across the filthy ground. That wasn't all- the soothing thrum of magic, a gentle ward winding around his thoughts, guiding them to safety.

“ _Evallan!”_ He sprang to the unlatched window, reflexively sticking his arm through to make contact with the wards origin. Warm fingers clasped his own, the Keeper practically growling as he squeezed and reassured.

“ _I have you.”_

Evallan leant close, pressing the ironbark of his circlet to Dorian's forehead, opposite hand sidling through the space remaining to grasp his collar. There was still several inches of metal between the rest of them but the security he experienced in that moment was unmatched. The Keeper promptly began recital and stress dissipated from Dorian's muscles, inhaling haggardly- breathing him in.

“Thank you, thank you...Andraste bless you, Evallan.”

A comfortable winters morning; hail smattering the windows, that crisp scent in the air, yet blanketed in the lazy heat of home. He slouched against the door as the cosy images drifted through his mind, wondering how embarrassed Evallan would be if he shared them.

“Sing it properly.” He requested in a murmur- and must have come across rather pitiful, since the Keeper only hesitated briefly, the chant transforming into song.

As he braced against the elf and the door, listening to his strained vocals, it occurred that Evallan was horribly off-key- though Dorian still enjoyed the excuse to listen. He supposed that's all it had ever been- an excuse to make the tight-lipped mage say more than a handful of words. Not to mention the satisfaction that came from knowing Evallan _would_ sing for him, if asked.

Still he had to grin slyly, interrupting;

“I'm fairly certain you're almost completely tone-deaf, you know.”

Evallan's brow lofted, eyelids flickering before he spluttered with incredulous laughter, paired with a few Dalish curses until he recomposed enough to speak.

“ _You are the one who told me to sing!”_

“Well, yes,” Dorian howled along with him. “But I didn't think it was possible you'd gotten _worse!”_

The Keeper swore again, lowering his head, still chiming in stunned relief.

“ _I have not exactly been practising!”_

“You've had a whole ten years!” He said coyly. “You could have practised for me!”

“ _For you?”_ He retorted with a mystified smile, still fighting hiccups of emotion. “For you alone I should have set time aside in my day to sing!?”

“Can you think of a better reason?” Dorian didn't relent on his coy expression. Now self-aware enough to note how intertwined they were- even with a door in the way- he rubbed Evallan's hand, not hiding the intimacy behind the gesture. His reluctance to touch the elf the day prior felt ridiculous now- he should have seized the opportunity.

_I should seize every opportunity, damn it!_

_No matter how bloody pathetic it makes me feel.._

He promised that next time, he wouldn't allow his pride to dissuade him.

Evallan caressed Dorian's hand in turn, examining him studiously, ignoring the half-sarcastic question. There was just enough light playing on his features for Dorian to see he'd at least had someone competent heal his mouth before stealing away.

“It was quite foolish of you to burn that cloak, Dorian Pavus.”

“I'd do it again, if it meant you didn't have to wear it.” He said with a shameless smile.

“There will always be another cloak.” Evallan furrowed his brow, either concerned or unimpressed.

“And I'll burn that one too!” He laughed, uncaring.

The Keeper huffed as if beside himself in exasperation, considering Dorian with a sharp gaze that was somehow equally lost. Dorian didn't have to wonder at his thoughts for long- a determined tug at his collar and lips were firmly claimed.

Shock paralysed him for a moment- but he wouldn't waste this opportunity. He pushed into the kiss, urging Evallan not to pull away, perching on his toes to be as close as possible. That sliver of a scar he'd imprinted onto his memory crushed against his mouth, begging him to tease, first with his tongue, then a nip of teeth.

His excitement seemed to perturb Evallan at first, freezing on the spot even as Dorian encouraged, never pausing in his desperate affection. Unable to maintain his reserved facade, the elf yielded wholly, his tongue filling Dorian's mouth.

_You really_ do _taste cold._

_It doesn't make much bloody sense!_

Senseless or no, he burned to be soothed by that cool suggestion and reflected it was fortunate for the elf there was an obstruction between them.

_That's probably the only reason you're allowing this..._

_You can't disgrace yourself terribly much with me in_ here, _can you?_

He made a new promise to himself- one day, Evallan would touch him without delirium or endangerment as his motivation. One day, he would touch him simply to fulfil the desire.

Either overwhelmed or wrangling control over himself, the Keeper tore away with a sharp inhale. His eyes downturned, skin visibly heated even in the dull lighting. Dorian grinned, only feeling a little guilt at how victorious he must seem.

“If that's my prize for burning one cloak, maybe I should break into the barracks and burn the lot of them.” He remarked, quite cheered by the encounter.

The Keeper muttered something in Dalish, shaking his head.

“You would be here for a month.”

“But afterwards,” He continued beaming, hoping to catch Evallan's skittish gaze. “You'd be eager to show me the _fullest_ extent of your gratitude, I'm certain.”

Pale skin flared brighter while the elf struggled- fighting to scowl while his mouth wavered with that asymmetry Dorian knew leashed a smile.

“I hardly think that would be worth it.” He grumbled, managing to suppress himself.

“I'd do a lot more if I thought...” Dorian trailed off as he realised what he was saying. “I'm sorry, Evallan...I know we've spoken of this.”

“I am the one who should be sorry,” Evallan said immediately, glaring at the ledge of their little window. “I am sorry that........I am just sorry.”

Uneasy silence encapsulated them, Dorian perusing the elf's unreadable face. It was he who broke the quiet, stating abruptly;

“I have decided I will teach you the song.” He looked at Dorian then, less flustered. “It does not work as well when sung to yourself, and without Lightbringer to truly seal your fear- you will have to repeat it, as you would in a meditation.”

“I- well, I'm humbled, obviously, but...is that really appropriate?”

“You are my friend,” His justifications were issued in a determined growl. “You are here because of me, and I am the Keeper of our clan- therefore, of our songs. It is not only appropriate, it is my duty.”

Everything about him was so grim as he explained- Dorian had to chuckle.

“Well, when you put it like that...how could I ever refuse?”

So they both leant as comfortably as possible against the blockade separating them, Evallan slowly relaying verses, Dorian repeating them even slower. Occasionally the Keeper would correct him but it was rarer than Dorian expected. After going over the main verse a few times, Dorian had to observe.

“Evallan...I can't help but notice you're not actually teaching me what these words _mean.”_

“You do not need to know their meaning,” He said with a hint of Dalish stubbornness. “The phrasing and intent is enough.”

“And how am I to deduce the intent and phrasing, when I haven't a clue what any of it _means?”_ It _was_ a little frustrating, he wasn't feigning that.

“You always require understanding of a language to sense the intent of a word?” Evallan replied icily, perking a brow.

“Well, no, not always,” Dorian would still press. “But it _helps.”_

The Keeper narrowed his eyes, mute. Dorian threw hands up in surrender.

“Alright- fine, fine! How about _this,”_ He angled close- as much as he could. “Will you at least allow me to ask questions, and confirm or deny my assumptions?”

“Fine,” Evallan sighed. “I will allow this.”

Since he was so begrudging, Dorian mentally pinned his curiosities for later. Not long after, Evallan bid him goodnight- more like good morning, by that point- and slunk away, meaning to elude the Templar's schedule.

The narrow cell felt less like a tomb- and he had something to occupy his mind. He was still reluctant to shut the window but knew someone more official would visit- if only to feed him. It shrieked closed and he bundled himself with his back to the door, intending to sleep while Evallan's influences were fresh.

Dorian couldn't say how long he was dead to the world but he was awoken by a persistent rattle, followed by angered speech when he didn't instantly rise.

“ _Pavus- damn it!_ Do you want your void-damned food or not?!”

He thought it was Marcus but when he straightened, it was a different Templar; red hair and a bristly beard, holding out a plate of bread and a flask. Dorian accepted them via the window, blinking away sleep. His mental state was relatively calm, dregs of Evallan's wards lingering, but he thought to ask, optimistic;

“I don't suppose you want to stay and chat for a bit?”

“Nope.”

The dull square of light cried out as it was crushed, leaving Dorian in unimaginable solitude. Lacking an appetite, he placed both items in a corner, memorising their placement so he wouldn't kick anything in the dark. With nothing else to do and his courage beginning to slip, he paced the tiny area like a caged animal and rehearsed Evallan's song to himself, trying not to fixate on the mystery behind the foreign lyrics.

Yet he would fixate- what else was there to do? He existed as if half-drowned in the middle of an ocean, head bobbing just enough over waves not to choke on salt, perfectly calm as long as he kept his eyes on the sun.

So he kept his eyes on the sun. He recited. He searched for patterns.

Eventually he realised- he'd heard one of these phrases somewhere else.

_Ma vhenan._

He'd almost misplaced his hallucination from the first hour in this place- he remembered now and shuddered. A figment of his terror, of course- and nothing he would share with Evallan, too humiliating- but those words. There was something about them his subconscious favoured and he found this curious, puzzling over them while repeating the verse.

When Evallan finally materialised at the window hours later, Dorian greeted him with the singular thing that held his mind captive.

“Ma vhenan?”

The elf was paralysed in three syllables, features seized and eyes wide- he _almost_ looked as ruffled as when Dorian spoke his name.

“...Wh... _what?_...”

“What does it mean?” He chuckled away the Keeper's shock. “A name? A title? It's recurring, and it's obviously addressing someone.”

Evallan regarded him strangely for a long time, coughed something to himself, turned his back to lean against the cell while viewing the opposite wall.

“....It is a term of endearment,” He informed rigidly. “Such as _'my love'_ or _'my heart'.”_

That explained his flustering- and may also explain why Dorian's subconscious obsessed over the words. He took it in much better stride than Evallan- focusing on his general stupidity was better than flailing in an ocean.

“Oh I see,” He went on, casual. “So the full, recurring line there, is something similar to _'calm down, my love'_.”

“...Something like that, yes.” Evallan refused to face him and Dorian had the impression he was bashful, considering how he rambled as if to muffle anxiety;

“There are many characters at play. Each verse corresponds to a different conversation, a different side in a war. On each, there is someone who wishes to fight, and someone who wishes to make peace. The chorus is always the same, someone urging their beloved to lay down their arms.”

Processing this, Dorian felt a little deceived, though he laughed while expressing as much.

“ _You were so offended at the notion this was romantic!_ But the whole story unravels as a discussion between couples!”

Evallan's shoulders bristled, grumbling into his chest- back to Dorian still.

“Romance is often used as a mechanism of story-telling in Lavellan folklore...The story is still of war, not romance. Many of our stories are communicated in such way.”

Of course he wouldn't allow the Keeper to excuse himself so easily! Wearing a broad grin, he slumped as much out of the window as possible while he teased.

“I didn't take you for a clan of romantics. That's quite surprising.”

This time Evallan glanced at him sharply- but only glanced.

“We are just as affectionate as _you,_ Dorian Pavus,” He sounded almost offended. “We express it differently, that is all.”

“I'm beginning to notice that,” Dorian further teased- though with much warmth. “Besides...duty and purpose, those are also romantic notions, aren't they?”

The Keeper breathed out, seeming exhausted by the discussion- brief as it had been.

“I suppose they are.” He admitted very quietly.

“Well...I like the sound of it anyway.” Dorian backed off from the window somewhat, allowing the man space.

“I would have been more apprehensive in teaching you,” Evallan said it like an accusation. “If I had known how quickly you are able to grasp such things.”

“You should have taken into account I used to spend all my time translating texts!” Dorian cackled, satisfied. “I didn't know much Dwarven at first, either. I at least know what Dalish _sounds_ like, so I already have a head start compared to then.”

“I underestimated your linguistic abilities, it is true,” He finally turned, laughing lightly. “We will continue to test them, no? Recite what you remember.”

Dorian was happy to do so and even happier to be corrected so few times.

\--

By his count it was the second day and he knew this because it was the second time a Templar rattled his cage. Meeting them at the window, it was Bauer who handed him bread and water he had no stomach for.

“...I don't suppose you want to chat a bit?” Dorian risked it while placing his nourishment aside. If any of the Templars might humour him, he supposed it would be this one.

Bauer tilted uncertainly in his boots but obliged him, shrugging.

“Alright, Pavus- but just a minute. If I'm too long, someone will come down and yell at us.”

“Excellent.” He beamed, though struggled to think of something to say.

The pair fidgeted awkwardly in the dark until he managed small-talk.

“So, how are goings-on in the tower?”

“Oh, well...” Bauer similarly didn't know how to answer, but also managed something. “Your Lavellan's driving everyone mad, actually! Badgering the First Enchanter to release you every day you've been here... _Maker's breathe,_ it's only three days!”

“ _'My_ Lavellan?'” Dorian spluttered- and spluttered more. “Wait- what are you talking about, he's badgering Irving?”

“Exactly like I said! He's at his office every day- which of course, is driving _Marcus_ crazy, too,” He snickered, shaking his head in pity for everyone involved. “And anyone who gets in the way of _either_ of them? _Oof_...Let's just say, I'm staying out of range.”

A mix of emotions bubbled uncomfortably and excitably- Evallan was _really_ going to such trouble? Yet he was also tormented by dread and shame- he _shouldn't_ be going to such trouble, not for _Dorian!_

Staring into space, it gave Bauer more opportunity to banter through the pause.

“What is it with you two, anyway? I thought Lavellan doesn't like humans.”

“What?” Dorian blinked at him, reanimating. “Oh, well....He still doesn't, actually. I'm not really an exception- I'm just too annoying to be rid of, you see.”

For now that was the only way Dorian could understand it.

“...No, I don't really see.” Bauer said after a brief study. “But it's none of my business. I just thought if there was a simple answer, you'd give it.”

“No such thing, I'm afraid.” He smirked and Bauer rolled his eyes.

“Well...try to stay out of trouble, Pavus.”

Left in the cramped void and to his own devices once again, he curled up against the door and embraced his knees, pondering. Mostly he admonished Evallan for succumbing to his habit of distraction- surely there were more productive things for him to do than hassle Irving on Dorian's behalf.

Then there was Marcus, who probably- optimistically- assumed with Dorian absent, Evallan would spend the time honing his skill against more advanced opponents. As much as he wanted to find amusement in it, more than anything he was concerned for the stupid elf.

_You don't have to protect me, damn it..._

_Didn't I tell you?!_

Yet by now he would have been reduced to babbling madness, if it weren't for the Keeper- so how could he begin to argue? Evallan also hadn't informed Dorian of his interventions and clearly had no wish to.

The passage of time is bizarre when you're trapped in a hole with no daylight. Two events signalled mid-day and midnight- the arrival of a Templar, then Evallan. Asides from that, there was the ward utilised to imprison his fear- though he could chant himself into a stupor, Lightbringer was required to nullify emotion completely.

So as the hours crawled on and the ward ebbed away, fainter and fainter, he knew something was amiss.

_They've figured him out._

_However he was sneaking here...he can't now._

Should he be relieved someone was restraining the Keeper's impulses? Dismayed that he now had to suffer on his own- albeit not for much longer? Tilting between the two, Dorian was forced to settle on panic, Evallan's lingering ward vanishing into the abyss.

Sanity would have gone with it but Dorian launched into recital, talking against knees with eyes squeezed tight. Trying to remember and organise the verses soothed him to some extent- he still quivered like a hunted animal and struggled for air.

Ultimately his imagination clung to echoes of Evallan's voice- recalling the texture of the words when uttered by his tongue, sombre and quiet.

_'Ma vhenan.'_

He winced shamefully at how comforting the phrase was when Evallan was the one to say it. If he were more composed he'd will more respect from himself but as things were, he had to repeat the memory to remain intact.

_'For you, ma vhenan...the world, always.'_

“That's not a memory,” He mumbled to no one. “That was a dream....and not a particularly enjoyable one.”

Then again, all this frenzied poetry and embarrassing fantasy was making him rather tired.

He flit in and out of consciousness for most of the night, chanting himself into a coma.

The shriek of the window startled him awake but he was surprised by how gently he was beckoned.

“Dorian- are you alright...?” Evallan- he'd recognise that voice anywhere, no matter how delirious or dysfunctional his state of mind.

Leaping onto uneven, numb feet, he fell into the door with a groan to perceive the Keeper blinking at him, offering bread and water.

“What are you doing here?” He rasped, taking the items with shaky hands. “And where...were you? Are you in trouble?”

From the pitiful way he was studied, Dorian surmised he looked like death.

“I will explain.” Evallan angled near the window, gestured him close. “First, the song.”

Placing the dismal nourishment aside, Dorian slumped into the door and gripped the hand braced there. Evallan didn't protest, dutifully relaying verses until the fingers clutching his were able to relax.

“You were...going to explain something?” He spoke once calmed, absently toying with the hand Evallan was gracious enough to allow him.

“I could not reach you last night. They have posted more Templars, having deduced I was able to escape their notice.”

“I thought as much...but you're here now?”

“Because there is news,” Evallan brightened somewhat, with just a ghost of a smile. “So Irving has allowed me to visit you.”

“On the promise you leave him alone for the next day, I imagine?” Dorian grinned.

“Ah...yes.” The elf shifted in discomfort and he decided not to taunt him too mercilessly for this one- or to berate him for wasting his time. Dorian was sure at least one person had already done that.

“Alright, then...what news is so important that the Council of Heralds would seek me out in a hole?”

“What...?” Evallan knit his brow but chucked when the reference struck him. “ _Oh,_ the Council, I see...Well, you will feel quite foolish for that, as this is rather serious. We have news from the Wardens- Caladrius lives.”

Dorian straightened, his grip on Evallan's hand firming while his other grasped the side of the door for balance. His brain reeled, terrified he hadn't heard right-

“Elias- he's alive? _He's alright?”_

The Keeper smiled, failing to suppress his joy at being the one to convey this news- and Dorian was in great need of such uplifting news.

“He lives. He fights alongside the Grey Wardens.”

A weight fell from Dorian's shoulders, crying out from triumph that was hardly his own while he bounced, gleeful.

“ _He's alright! The nug-brained tit is alright!”_ It was like a flash of sunlight in the maddening gloom, containing himself was impossible. _“I didn't doom him! There might actually be a Maker-damned point to every stupid thing in this blighted bloody world!”_

Laughing affectionately, Evallan tugged on his hand in hopes to still him.

“Will you stop blaming yourself now?”

Composing himself with some trouble, Dorian eased, grinning.

“What? No, _of course not!_ ” He cackled at Evallan's unimpressed expression. “But _now_...now I can tell myself there was a point to it. I didn't lead him to death for nothing.”

The elf sighed, carefully disentangling their fingers.

“I suppose that is the best I can hope for...I am glad for your friend,” Stepping back, he placed his hand along the window with a frown. “I am sorry I cannot stay longer...”

“It's alright,” Dorian waved him away, sincerely feeling quite content. “I'll be released in the morning, so you need to stop tearing the bloody tower apart for me...”

“I...I will try.” Evallan shuffled slightly and even though he couldn't see it, Dorian knew he blushed.

“I will visit you upon your return, though I am sure you will be fine..”

“Just _go,_ Evallan!” Dorian laughed without cruelty- the flustering elf, so reluctant to leave him...he was more than a little endearing.

Probably blushing fiercer, Evallan muttered something in Dalish and slid the gap closed.

The colourless void was somehow less ominous, less threatening. He rested, picked at bread, waited, rested...

On the final morning, light flooded the cell not from a narrow opening but from the full breadth of the door. Dorian had been coiled against it as usual, reflecting on how the mix of bodily fluids, mouldy bread and dank stone had built up to quite a reek.

Then he was sprawled on his back and groaning, Bauer perusing him from above.

“Comfy down there, Pavus?” He jested, sounding friendly enough.

“Oh yes, it's becoming like home, you know,” Dorian grunted, righting his aching bones with some trouble. “Have I served my time yet, o' merciful jailer?”

Bauer snorted while standing aside, allowing him space to stand. Once they were able to see eye-to-eye, the young Knight went on to inform with a little anxiety;

“There's just one thing...you said you didn't mean to dissent, so we need you to sign a statement that says as much.”

“ _Eh?”_ Dorian squinted, irritated by the absurdity. _“What even?- You know what, it doesn't matter!_ I _didn't_ mean it as an act of dissent and _all_ I want is to clean up and lay down in a bloody bed, _thank you_! I'll sign whatever blasted thing-”

Snatching the quill and parchment Bauer extended towards him, he scribbled his name and shoved it back, not bothering to attempt reading- it was too dark, anyway. He only spotted where to sign because of how meaningfully it was underlined beneath the block of script. He'd have to take it at face-value that it truly was a plea of ignorance and nothing more.

“I had the servants prepare a bath for you,” Bauer said with a hint of amusement, leading him upwards. “Figured that would be the first thing on your mind.”

“You already know me so well.”

After that bath he would crawl into his furs and be dead to the world for a minimum of twelve hours, he decided.

“Not to offend you too terribly,” Dorian spoke as they ascended. “But you're not like most of the other Templars- what exactly brought you into it?”

“What brings most people into it these days, I'd say,” Bauer shrugged. “I want to fight the Blight. Templars last longer on the field than regular soldiers.”

“Then why not become a Warden? Wardens last longer than anyone.”

The young Templar scrunched his face in thought, apparently considering what the appropriate words to express himself might be.

“Well...you know what they say about Wardens.”

“...No?” Though he imagined many things were said of the Wardens, Bauer's point was lost on him.

Bauer chuckled, coaxing Dorian along- his pace was rather sluggish, exhausted as he was. The Templar at least exercised a vast amount of tolerance for it, when compared to the likes of Marcus.

“Well they're blighted somehow, aren't they? _'Married to the Archdemon',_ so they say...Not exactly a commitment I'm ready for.”

Dorian puzzled over this while Bauer struggled with the ancient lock of the basement.

“But if all you want is to defeat the Blight, why does that matter?”

“Alright, so maybe I'm selfish, too,” He glanced over with a smirk. “I serve as a Templar and do well, maybe when this is all over I can get a comfortable spot as some lord's man at arms, or tutoring a noble boy to wield a sword so he doesn't embarrass his house in tourneys.

Whatever happens with the Blight, I can leave it behind. I don't think a Warden can really do that.”

Dorian thought of Evallan. Bauer's reasoning and priorities totally contrasted the elf's and he supposed most people thought similarly- everyone wanted to be of use, but most were doing so in the hope of a better future for themselves. He struggled with a contradiction of emotion, feeling a bit hypocritical- if more people thought the way Evallan did, people like Evallan might shoulder less burden.

On the other hand, to ask someone like Evallan to shoulder less burden was equivalent to asking him to be as selfish as those Dorian criticised- himself among them. Not only was it against the Keeper's nature but Dorian's motivations were self-centred, daydreaming of a world where Evallan could fulfil his purpose _and_ his desire, without the two being at odds.

He thought of Elias, too. Serving somewhere out there, among the Wardens as he'd always strived for. _'Married to the Archdemon',_ so they say.

“...You alright?” Bauer questioned suddenly, wrestling the door open. “...Feel like I lost you for a moment.”

“You lost me for longer than that,” Dorian joked. “How long was I in there, again? Three days? That's how long I was lost, then.”

“Didn't lose your sense of humour, though.” The Templar chortled, waving him through the exit.

“Thank Andraste for small mercies!” Dorian raised his arms dramatically and stepped through into the dim morning light, squinting as his eyes watered.


	12. Led Astray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 5.5) Evallan's repeated efforts to have Dorian released- and other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to write this chapter despite my computer being in bad shape because long boring explanation that I don't feel like getting into but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> also Greagoir is such a weird spelling of that name it drives me crazy everytime I have to type it, I'm sure I have other spellings of it sneaking in here lol.

Deep red trickled along the icy surface, filling grooves that made up each alien character, the script still reading as nonsense to Evallan. Watching as the blood from his damaged fingers coloured the engravings, it occurred to him- didn't someone usually interrupt him before he could injure himself? However as he inspected the markings, he couldn't fathom who that person had been.

The answer struck him when a kind voice interrupted, a hand pulling at his wrist.

“I think that is quite enough, brother! You will break a finger if you continue.”

Amrallan, his brother- except-

“ _You are still-!”_ He began to repeat for the dozenth time, whirling on the spirit and scowling, but was cut off by a careless laugh.

“ _'Not my brother!'_ I know, I know!” It gestured excitably as it spoke, just as Amrallan would. “Every time I wake I tell myself; _you are not Amrallan Lavellan! You are not Amrallan Lavellan!_ But then, my form remains the same. When I appear to someone, this is what they see. Inevitably I forget _'I am not Amrallan Lavellan'_ , and so when you rudely remind me...I find it useless information, to be truthful.”

“ _Ugh!”_ Issuing a noise of disgust, Evallan fell onto his back and lay at the foot of the spire he'd written upon. By this angle he noticed something else- the translucent barrier separating his dream from Lightbringer's. She loitered at the edge and when their eyes met the glow around her brightened, waving at her chosen merrily.

Waving back with less enthusiasm, he inquired of the other spirit that occupied his dream;

“She was not always there, was she? I am not imagining that?”

“She was not.” It answered quickly, flopping to sit next to it's 'brother'. “There were some spires and tablets that you were drawing upon. I theorise that once completed, a pathway opened.”

Grunting in acknowledgement, Evallan righted himself to scrutinise his work.

“And you can still not read this?”

“No, but I have been thinking...” Tapping it's chin as it shared these meanderings. “Mother always said your vallaslin- Lightbringer's circle- has incomplete pieces, lost throughout generations of chosen...”

“If she is trying to show me these pieces,” He countered with a huff. “Could she not simply draw them?”

“Perhaps she does not actually know them, but only how to find them. A pathway to more knowledge. It is not unheard of, brother.”

While the spirit lectured he perused the stained and scratched spire, thoughts wandering, giving no response.

“...You seem distracted, Eldest.” It pointed out after some time.

“And I suppose you are about to ask why?” He grumbled, not bothering to look at the figment.

“Well, no, actually! I can see why just looking at you!”

Turning to make eye contact, he furrowed his brow towards the smugness the spirit emanated.

“Something happened in the Deep Roads, did it not?”

His expression hardened further, though he said nothing to dignify this accusation.

“Something to do...with Dorian Pavus?” It hazarded with a huge grin, instantly aggravating him.

“And how are you so certain?”

The fake Amrallan pressed a digit to it's lips in a secretive gesture but this further incensed Evallan. Chuckling at his morbid features, it went on.

“Have you _ever_ been able to hide your thoughts from me, brother?”

“ _Except you are not my brother!”_ He snapped, flailing his arms in impotent rage. Of course it merely laughed.

“Even that being the case...Your thoughts are obvious to me. I imagine they are obvious to anything that enters your dream. Your heart practically sings his name!”

Dropping his face into his hands, Evallan prayed out-loud for the blighted Dread Wolf to take them both, encouraging more amusement from the spirit.

“Do not be such a grouch! What happened? You must tell me!”

Ignoring him, Evallan continued to beseech Fen'harel for merciful oblivion, yet the doppelgänger spoke over this.

“Did it have to do with the amulet? I bet it did!”

Practically screaming in frustration, he jerked his head from its shelter in his palms.

“ _He told me to keep the damn thing!”_

“Did he?!” The spirit whistled in feigned amazement. “Actually, that is not too shocking. If you had bothered to ask me, I could have told you he would be inclined to do such.”

“ _And why would I speak to you of Dorian Pavus?!”_ Evallan spat, hands over-active in his impatience _“In fact-_ why would I speak to _anyone_ of Dorian Pavus?! Why do you _all_ insist on speaking of him to me as if I am his keeper?! You- Fila - Villyen - _even Marcus_!”

“The bond between you is obvious. You are the only one who pretends it is not!” The spirit chortled in sincere mirth and Evallan could not tolerate it. Bouncing onto his feet, he called to the barrier where Lightbringer observed them passively.

“Wake me, damn it! I will not sit here and be taunted by some fool minor spirit!”

A familiar action from Lightbringer- she had no visible eyes, yet somehow Evallan swore she rolled them at him. Deflating, he tried to exercise some manners.

“...Please?”

Though she appeared to roll her eyes once more, with a soundless snap of fingers the world around him dissolved.

When he awoke it was earlier than usual, his bedroom was in disarray and riddled in patches of frost, his fingers more scathed and swollen than they'd ever been. He supposed the spirit had decided to let him work for some time, understanding the importance now he was so close to the end. By the time it remembered to visit his dream his appendages were almost crippled.

And so concluded his first night back at the tower. It was early even for him but he had no choice but to stalk down the gloomy hall for Fila's room. She opened after ten or so minutes of persistent knocking, still mid-yawn, and Evallan displayed his wounded fingers.

“ _By the Gods, Eldest!_ What did you do?!”

“Another nightmare.” He bent his head in shame, holding out his hands for her to take. “Please, sister, I do not want others to see..”

She obliged him and tended to the wounds, though perked a brow.

“...Why do I feel like you're not _really_ having nightmares?”

“...Forgive me the deceit. It is not something I am ready to speak of.”

In truth he didn't know if it would worry her less or more to know of his nightly escapades but for now, he preferred not to. Not until he could give a coherent explanation of what was happening to him. She respected his privacy and accepted the little excuse he could offer, healing him and then insisting he rest more before daylight.

Sleep would only result in more conversation he wished to avoid. Instead he poured over his Harrowing notes for the sake of occupying his mind, telling himself it had nothing to do with who or what they reminded him of.

\--

Blood dripped thickly and freely from his mouth but Evallan was motionless. Eyes drilled into the broad back of the Templar until he rounded a corner, taking Dorian Pavus with him.

_'You don't have to protect me, damn it!'_

The Tevinter's words rang in his mind emptily, they had no meaning. Whether truthful or said for his benefit, they had no meaning.

_I_ must _protect him-_ we _must._

_You...you understand, yes? I cannot call him clan and yet-_

Lightbringer couldn't answer him directly but with a Spirit of Faith, silence often speaks volumes. She had allowed him to save Dorian Pavus twice- once from being lost in the Deep Roads, then against that grotesque aberration. And now as he stormed up the tower, shoving people aside to reach the First Enchanter's office, she was still unconcerned by her wielder's self-made distraction.

_I cannot explain it._

_To lose him would be the same as if losing Fila, or Villyen.._

_And it is_ my fault _that he is down there!_

To place Dorian in isolation, they either had to be unaware or uncaring of the man's disabling phobia. Evallan could imagine the depth of it if he were left alone- could imagine the damage to his psyche. With these things plaguing his thoughts he marched into the office without announcing himself, promptly lashing out.

“ _You are punishing the wrong man, damn you!”_

Irving and Greagoir immediately blinked towards him, the First Enchanter at his desk while the Knight Commander stood aside. It appeared they'd been in the midst of conversation and now they stared blankly at this elven invader. Greagoir summoned his wits first, his clueless features becoming stern. Irving still spoke before he did, fumbling with words.

“Am I to assume you speak of Dorian Pavus?” He lifted a hand towards Greagoir, meaning for him to stand down.

“ _Who else would I speak of?!”_ He spat, tasted adrenaline and metal from his still-oozing mouth. “Anything he has done was under _my_ command- _the responsibility is mine!_ ”

“And would you learn anything from such a punishment, Keeper Lavellan?” The First Enchanter questioned simply, fingers steepled as they often were, as if the shape contained all the man's tolerance for hysterical mages.

“ _All he will learn from this is what he already knows!”_ He countered ruthlessly, felt saliva mingle with blood as he snarled. “That your establishment cares more for symbols than people, and more for Templar pride than the safety of those you swore ten years ago to protect!”

“ _That's enough!”_ Greagoir boomed, placing himself before the First Enchanter. “ _For the love of bloody Andraste-_ look at yourself, boy! Bleeding all over the First Enchanter's floor and raving like you're still in blighted Tevinter!”

Evallan shrank but willed himself to firm, baring those crimson-stained teeth that apparently offended the Knight Commander so.

“ _May the Dread Wolf take your damn floor and your bloody Andraste!”_

Within half a second his collar was wrenched by a gauntlet- though much less violently than he was accustomed to from Marcus. He found himself being steered towards the door while the Knight Commander lectured.

“ _Compose yourself, boy!_ Compose yourself, clean yourself off and have your mouth seen to! _Then_ perhaps, if the First Enchanter is feeling _gracious_ , he will allow you a _civil_ audience!”

“ _Will he now?!”_ He argued despite being shoved through the exit. “Or will he accuse me of dissension and throw me into a cell?!”

The only response he was afforded was the slamming door.

For a short time he stood with his nose an inch from the closed entrance, air hissing in and out from a rapidly moving chest, calculating. Then he was stalking down the hall, searching for someone- anyone would do, really.

Eventually he found a human mage sauntering for the stairwell and he snatched their robe-sleeve before they could move on, pointing at his tarnished face.

“ _This_ \- can you fix it?”

“ _Wh-what?_ Oh, well- yes, I- suppose. It's not very serious-”

“ _Then do so!”_ He ordered the clearly-terrified shem, who hastened to fulfil this direction with wide eyes and paling cheeks.

“Thank you.” Evallan said rigidly, allowing the mage to go on with his day. He made for the office, tearing off the outer covering of his many-layered robes and wiping the crimson from his face as best he could. Once there he tossed the material to one side and strode through the door- they'd been foolish not to think of locking it.

“ _Lavellan...”_ Greagoir began with blatant irritation, closing the gap between them- but was halted by a cough from Irving.

“He _appears_ to have composed himself for now, no? Keeper Lavellan, please sit.”

Glowering at the Knight Commander, he took the seat across Irving's desk, regarding him coldly. The First Enchanter was unperturbed, his tone casual.

“You must understand, Keeper Lavellan...Neither I nor Greagoir truly wish to punish him. However, if _we_ do not act, the Chantry _will._ ”

“Then punish _me!”_ He had to fight to contain himself. “Everything he did was either on my say or for my sake! _I_ am the one who took him away from the mages- I practically ordered him to follow!”

“But you gave no order to burn a Chantry symbol, I wager?”

“Not with my words, perhaps. But he was influenced by my actions.”

“Then perhaps,” Irving rebuffed with a bemused smile. “He should not allow himself to be so influenced. That is a worthy lesson on its own, wouldn't you say?”

“So are you punishing him because he is easily influenced, or because of an act of dissent?” He narrowed his eyes, having to muster all his will to remain calm. “Either way, it is unfair.”

The First Enchanter leant back, perusing Evallan with a thoughtful smile.

“It is rather interesting, this special attention you seem to afford our Dorian Pavus.”

“Why is that interesting?!- _he is my friend!”_ He lashed out against the imagined accusation but Irving merely waved it away with a chuckle.

“It is interesting for various reasons to various people, I'm sure- but what _I_ find curious relates to the young man's Harrowing. He has explained most of it to you, yes, during your tutelage?”

This derailment enraged him, bristling as his voice pounced from his throat.

“ _What does this have to do with anything?!”_

“ _Stop shouting, boy!”_ Greagoir intervened from behind. “The First Enchanter isn't some Templar runt for you to talk down to!”

He huddled against the back of the chair, pursing his lips, shoulders twitching. Satisfied by the restraint of both men, Irving proceeded.

“At one point during his Harrowing, he began to chant in Dalish. Did he tell you of this detail?”

“No.” Evallan forced out that one, sour syllable.

“It so happens I went to the trouble of having a scribe record everything they could. Now, of course I could find no Dalish willing to _translate_ it- even your Fila refused me.”

While the elder mage spoke he opened desk-drawers and rooted through them, extracting a worn piece of parchment from a logbook.

“I _did_ however, hold onto the transcription...I imagine in the right hands, it could be of surprising use...”

The First Enchanter held the paper and eyed Evallan meaningfully- whatever chant that left Dorian's lips, whatever knowledge might be salvaged from it, the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan would be the ideal candidate to puzzle out these things...

Glaring at the paper, Evallan considered.

“You are lying to distract me.” He decided, squinting at the man's face.

“ _Half_ of your statement is correct.”

Mulling over the First Enchanter and the offered paper, he recalculated.

“....You do not lie, but you _are_ trying to distract me.” His eyes narrowed further, sharply. _“You will not.”_

Irving whisked out a sigh as exhausted as it was disappointed, placing the ill-gotten knowledge back whence it came.

“So be it,” He said with a tired shrug. “But I am afraid, Keeper Lavellan, that I have no more time for you today.”

Within his chest his heartbeat rattled, full of dread upon hearing those words- was there really nothing he could do to rectify this situation? He shook his head defiantly, refusing to budge.

“You realise this is wrong. I know you realise this- you are many things, but you are no simpleton.”

“ _Lavellan!”_ Greagoir roared, stomping to hover over the desk.

“I said he is _not_ -”

“I don't care what you said! _Out!”_

The Knight Commander stabbed a finger at the exit and Evallan reluctantly slunk in that direction, agonising over what to do.

_I will not leave him down there, damn you all!_

_I will not leave him._

\--

Confining himself to his room, Evallan waited until nightfall to act.

Using a piece of charcoal, he scrawled a summoning circle upon the ground. In the centre, where a virtue would often be drawn, was the rune of Compassion gifted to him by Titus.

Sitting on the edge, he placed his fingers along the circle and released a pulse of will. Blue and white light danced along the symbols and stretched towards the rune, consuming it. When the flash dulled, a familiar spirit stood above the object- just solid enough to interact with the physical world, it's form mostly transparent.

“ _Ah!”_ The spirit imitating Amrallan jumped slightly, startled as it gazed around. “Oh I dislike this! I can feel the floor!”

It kicked at the paves a few times for emphasis, pulling a face in distress. Ignoring this melodrama, Evallan asked coolly.

“You wish to help me, is that not so?”

“Of course, brother!” It beamed at the notion, leaping from the circle to sit beside him.

“Then you must help me reach Dorian Pavus.”

“ _Reach Dorian Pavus?!”_ It repeated quizzically. “I am uncertain what you mean, brother, but it does not sound exactly like the help I was hoping to provide you!”

“But it is the only help you can truly offer me,” He insisted, sighing. “He has been placed in isolation- because of me. I cannot leave him there without aid.”

“I see...” The spirit stroked it's chin, eyeing him. “Well, that is a noble enough cause...How do you intend for me to reach him?”

“Follow me.”

Despite it being passed curfew the two stepped out into the hall and traversed the tower, heading downwards. Remaining unseen was no challenge for the spirit, and Evallan's abilities obscured him from people's notice to some extent. Reaching their destination floor without the Templar's sighting them was no trouble. However their next task required the evasion of a spirit- not just the simple trick of perception Evallan was capable of.

They stopped at the stairwell on the level above the cells and paused there, hunching in the shadows. From their vantage point they could spy the basement door, guarded by a single Templar, though Evallan knew at least one more would be on patrol.

“He has the key,” Evallan conveyed in a hush. “I require you to take it from him, unlock the door, and lure him away so I may enter. When you sense my return, you will have to distract him once more. And somehow...you must do all this without being seen.”

“Oh, they can see me!” The spirit said slyly, smirking. “But they will not remember!”

Before it could hop over the bannister, eager to make use of itself, Evallan grabbed a cold wrist.

“ _Remember!-_ These are Templars- they may not perceive or care that you are a spirit, and not a demon. If this will endanger you too much-”

It yanked free from him, cackling.

“Trust me, brother! They will not even realise what happened.”

Progressing over the boundary, the spirit skulked down the hall, almost escaping Evallan's perception a few times. Rather than elude the Templar it approached him directly and Evallan's heart froze- what was the fool spirit doing now?! Seeing words exchanged, he strained to hear.

“...So of course it burdens you! It is such a heavy key, with so much responsibility! And they expect you to carry it all night, burning a hole through your pocket, while knowing a man's whole life relies on that key! I think you deserve a breather from such an emotionally taxing duty...”

He struggled to hear exactly how the Templar replied and what else the spirit said but to his shock and awe, the man handed the key over to this transparent stranger and wandered away, unhurried. The spirit did as ordered from there- unlocking the door but keeping the key, it then shadowed the Templar.

As surprised as he was, there was no time to sit there being impressed. Silently descending, Evallan rushed for the basement door before anyone could spot him.

\--

The following morn Evallan dutifully arrived at the First Enchanter's office- to find it locked. When he knocked and there was no answer he banged until the door flew open to reveal Greagoir's severe countenance.

“We have no time for you today, boy.”

And before he could interject, the door was thrown shut in his face a second time. Agitated but unswayed, he sat directly opposite and waited. They would have to open eventually- if only to receive their meals, if they were so determined to avoid him they decided to eat within their sanctum.

He sat like an odd-looking statue, collecting many aches from this forced stillness, for a few hours at least. That was when Fila materialised with a loving smile.

“Eldest...you can't just sit outside here all day.” She cajoled sweetly, plucking at a corner of his robes.

“They will release Dorian Pavus or I will sit here all day.” He stated without looking, all the while glaring at the door. Still, he could sense Fila humming with thought.

“Why don't you step outside for some air with me in the garden, Keeper?” She offered with utmost respect, though tugging at his robes again. “I doubt they'll have opened while you're gone...It's not good to be sitting so still all day!”

He grunted non-committally and that was enough for his clan-sister, still casting innocent smiles as she pulled on his arm. Unable to bring himself to tear from her or argue, he sulkily allowed himself to be led.

“Dorian used to work in the garden all the time, you know!” She informed as they walked. He could only offer her another grunt, his thoughts trapped elsewhere.

“You shouldn't worry so much about him, Eldest...He's tougher than he looks!”

_Do none of them know how much you detest to be alone in the dark?_

He had to admit, he felt strange at this revelation. Dorian had entrusted this information with him, for reasons Evallan couldn't pretend to understand- perhaps to comfort him after the Fade-Walking circumstance left him so pathetically vulnerable?

Once outside Fila dragged him through the garden but didn't have the chance to educate her Keeper on the vegetation, an indignant voice thundering from the barracks.

“ _Lavellan! Where in all of fucking Thedas have you been?!”_

Fila shrank beside him and he wrapped an arm around her protectively, roaring right back- it was just Marcus, looming outside of the barracks door and berating him.

“ _And what business is it of yours?! I am allowed a private life, or am I not?!”_

Referencing the man's drunken spiel from the Deep Roads seemed to dissuade him for now, the Templar unleashing profanities as he kicked the door aside and vanished within. His clan-sister fidgeted alongside him for a moment, before grabbing his hand and exclaiming.

“Oh- look here, Eldest!” She brought him to a patch of crystal grace, stating cheerfully. “This is Dorian's favourite plant to tend to!”

With a long-winded sigh he inspected the flurry of bell-shaped petals, tinged purple or blue depending on maturity- from what he could recall. He dug through his memory for what else he knew of this particular plant.

“Is it not terribly finicky?” He mumbled after a moment.

“It is!” She giggled at his choice of observation, squeezing his hand. “ _Especially_ in the Ferelden climate- it's so humid and it really doesn't like anything you try to give it!”

Looking at her, he raised a brow while she explained.

“But I think that's why _Dorian_ likes it. I remember he spent weeks arguing with his first patch. Everyday you'd see him down here yelling and begging the gods for answers and mercy, and all that!

“Then one morning, they were finally all in bloom and he really wouldn't shut up about it! I remember him saying ' _see, that's how I know I'm doing a good job- because this stupid fussy plant finally blooms for me!'”_

For a reason he couldn't express, this story inspired misery in Evallan. He slouched and brooded, regarding the patch of elegant bells with distaste.

“He enjoys to stress himself needlessly, does he not?” He grumbled.

However his clan-sister giggled at this too, nudging him as she corrected.

“I think it's just that he likes to be challenged. Whenever things are too quiet, he's always so sulky.”

Meditating over the conversation, he frowned.

“...Why are you telling me this, sister?”

“Well you're worried about him, aren't you?” She pouted at him, leaning into his side like a cat. “I thought it might cheer you up to hear about it, that's all..”

He rasped out an intolerant breathe, glaring harder at the fussy plants that the foolish Dorian Pavus supposedly adored.

“You think he is where he is now because of his... _'desire to be challenged'_?”

“Well, sort of... _I_ think he felt like he had to prove himself.”

He changed his focus to frown at her instead.

“He has no reason to prove himself to me.”

“ _Doesn't_ he?” She smiled at him knowingly. “He looks up to you, Eldest- and not just because you're tall!”

Embarrassed, he returned to bitter consideration of the crystal grace.

“Even before you were here...he was always defending you, you know, whenever anyone said anything about the Dalish. I always thought he was doing it for _me_ but...lately I've been thinking...he's just always really admired you.”

Though her intentions could only be of the purest kind, learning all this deepened his misery.

“...And then you claim he does not stress himself needlessly?”

\--

On his third visit to the First Enchanter's office, Evallan was more strategic. He arrived early- before it was occupied, bringing a tray from the kitchen with a pot of tea and cups. Not that he expected to bribe Irving with basic manners- but he was more liable to humour Evallan if he exercised diplomacy.

Soon after his arrival Irving hobbled towards him- or more accurately, towards his office. That Evallan had placed himself right alongside was just an inconvenience but not one that alarmed the elderly mage. Half-asleep eyes focusing, he was amicable as he unlocked the door.

“I've had it told to me that Keeper Lavellan spends his mornings in solitude, and dislikes company. I should consider myself quite blessed, I think?”

“It is not a social call, you understand,” Evallan began, as mild as could be. “But the Knight Commander judges my conduct fairly. I apologise for it. I wish to present my case to you in a...reasonable manner.”

“Oh?” Swinging the door open, Irving waved him inside. “It does occur to me the last and only time you requested my audience, you were quite reasonable. But that was long ago.”

The two arranged themselves around the desk and Evallan set down the tray. He delicately filled cups, though glanced in Irving's direction.

“I am unsure when you speak of, First Enchanter.”

Irving took his time, relaxing in his chair and idly accepting the offered tea. By then the liquid had cooled- something Evallan hadn't bothered to account for- but the old mage simply blew hot air along the surface until the tea warmed.

“It must be quite inconvenient, to be disallowed from a basic tool.” He said conversationally, sipping tea.

“Yet I cannot imagine the Knight Commander would approve of such a frivolous use of magic.” Evallan observed in turn, holding his tepid cup.

“It is true I would hesitate in front of Greagoir,” He chuckled, drank more. “But _you're_ the one who brought me cold tea.”

Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, Evallan had to note;

“By that same reasoning...Dorian Pavus could not help burn that cloak.”

Irving sighed with feigned exaggeration, smiling.

“Old men need to be careful about the things they blather about in the morning, it seems,” He waved the distraction away, providing another. “But you said you are unsure of when our last audience was? I suppose you remember little of the negotiations, upon your return?”

“You mean when we returned from Tevinter, and we drew our treaty?” He searched his mind with some difficulty.

“You were more subdued then, but it strikes me you asked for more or less the same thing...”

“...I do not really recall, First Enchanter. It was a long time ago, and my family had recently...”

“I understand,” Irving held up a hand, stilling his thoughts. “But you asked for the same thing...responsibility. You should be the one to fight, you insisted. And with how few of your people had returned, and the stories that were told of your involvement...it was difficult to argue with you.”

“...Is there a meaning to this, First Enchanter? Or are you simply feeling nostalgic?”

“The responsibility you asked for then....it has, perhaps unfortunately for you and the Chantry, placed you in a role of necessity. This matter of the cloak is a small one, but I am concerned whose hand you may force if you make a habit of taking responsibility for such acts.”

Evallan processed these words then lowered his gaze, trying to demonstrate some regard while he said what he had to.

“With all due respect, First Enchanter, I do not answer to the Chantry.”

“Oh?” Irving chuckled lightly, retorting with the same measured tone. “That wouldn't be news to anyone, I'm sure...though I have to wonder who or what it is you think you _do_ answer to, Keeper Lavellan.”

Before he could fully consider or respond, heavy foot-falls signalled a new presence, the accompanying voice marking them as Greagoir's.

“Hassling the First Enchanter again, Lavellan? _Honestly?”_

“We were having quite a friendly discussion, actually,” Irving interrupted. “And perhaps he will agree to help us sort through all these blasted logbooks?”

“I can do so.” Evallan said without hesitation- though the First Enchanter hadn't budged, he felt more productive lingering here than in the garden. Greagoir eyed him doubtfully but no protests were vocalised.

The mentioned books logged both people and items and the constant shifting, adding and shuffling of both over the years had created a mess the scribes simply failed to keep up with. At a loss of where to even place new relics and findings, it was up to Irving himself to organise the lot.

Evallan reflected that Fila's disruptions in storage had more to do with clerical error than runaway enchantments. He noted to tell her as much.

Hours passed and he'd spotted little opportunity to mention Dorian Pavus. Leashed to the tedium of pouring over itemised lists, he told himself it was still better than to feel he'd done nothing.

A bang shook him from this chore, followed by stomping boots.

“ _Damn it, Lavellan!_ This is what you're doing now?!” Marcus thundered, towering over the desk.

“ _Have I not told you I will do as I please?!”_ Evallan tossed the book he worked over onto the table, immediately matching the Templar's fury. “We are not on the field! We have not heard from the Wardens! _We have no direction!”_

“ _So you're going to use your downtime sitting around with fucking paperwork?!”_ Marcus bit back. “After that pitiful fucking show in the Deep Roads?! You think that's what you should be doing?!”

“ _I do not care what_ you _think I should be doing!”_

Both wholly oblivious to the others present, Greagoir's roars brought them back.

“ _Are you mad, boy?!”_ Surprisingly, his target was Marcus. _“Do you think this appropriate conduct for a Templar?!_ Where do you think you are?!”

“ _I'm not the one up here all day wasting my damn time!”_

“ _He is a nuisance!”_ Greagoir bellowed, herding Marcus for the door with jabs at his shoulder. “But he has been a _quiet_ one, _until you stormed in here with your lunacy!”_

Allowing himself to be pushed, the man still growled.

“The elf was took on as a fucking soldier, not a blighted scribe.”

“The elf has made it quite clear he'll do as he pleases,” Greagoir snarled, shoving Marcus out. “In truth? _All_ you blighted Tevinter veterans are overgrown children! I _pray_ to Andraste every morning for the day _you'll return to where you belong!”_

With that, the door was thrown shut with a force that left its hinges shuddering.

About-facing, Greagoir glanced at him and barked;

“ _Do not look so smug, boy!”_ Evallan didn't believe he looked like anything. “I won't hear another word out of you either! Just organise the blighted logbooks...”

By the end of the day, he had to admit it hadn't been terribly productive.

\--

Together with his somewhat obnoxious spirit companion, Evallan made his way through their usual route to the floor above the basement. However something was off in the air- a vibrant spark that had been absent on the previous excursions. Someone else perhaps may miss it, but the ward was similar enough to one of Evallan's for him to detect.

He stretched an arm beside him, halting the spirit's progress.

“Someone remembered you. They have warded the area.”

“Hrm?” It peeked over Evallan's shoulder. “I can slip by, I think. I am not exactly a demon.”

“There will likely be additional Templars,” Hissing, he shook his head. “No, we cannot risk it.”

“ _'We cannot risk it?'”_ Turning to face the spirit, Evallan saw it grinning. “Brother...you say that as though you worry for me!”

He scowled, almost wanting to hit the stupid being.

“You are not my brother...but you are still a life worth protecting, as much as it vexes me.”

“I would take the risk for you, if you would allow.” Smiling warmly, it pained him how similar to Amrallan this spirit managed to be. There was no doubt in his mind they had met personally, before his death. Even if that were not so, he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of it's nature more than he had.

For now, he would have to trust in the Tevinter's own strength and the song he'd been gifted.

“Of course you would...but I will not allow you.”

_Not this time, brother._

\--

Dorian would be freed on the dawn of the next day but Evallan hadn't abandoned his mission. He met the First Enchanter in his office as previous and set to assisting him with logbooks. Evallan wondered if the old mage was aware of the spirit intrusion on the lower levels, though didn't hazard to pry. It was Irving mentioned who mentioned it, casually speaking over the pile of books;

“I assume you are in fact responsible for the sightings of a Dalish youngster on the lower floors? Strangely concerned over the health of our Templars, often willing them to nap or take a stroll in the garden?”

“I...In my defence, it cannot make them do anything they do not want to...” He attempted to scrounge for humour in the situation. “Your Templars are overworked.”

Irving snorted and Evallan relaxed, suppressing a nervous inhale.

“You will leave it be, yes? You will not hurt it?”

“It introduces itself as Amrallan, is that true?” Irving perked a brow curiously. “If it ceases it's interventions, of course no harm will come.”

“The Templars said it introduced itself?”

“Not in so many words...but,” Irving rooted around in his desk, rambling as he did. “Most of the Dalish- especially the Lavellans- are quite tight-lipped about anything they see as relevant to their culture...predictably, very few will discuss their Harrowings even in private, for research purposes. But the few who did all reported the same thing...”

The First Enchanter obtained a pile of papers, tied together with an old thread, untouched for years. He tossed it over to Evallan's side of the table with a nod.

“...A Spirit of Compassion in the form of Amrallan Lavellan, offering guidance or bolstering them when necessary, even tricking a demon in one instance...”

Evallan wordlessly took the pages but it felt intrusive to unbind, instead glancing at the few paragraphs he could discern by rifling corners and peeking. He recognised the handwriting of one- Fila's.

“...I have often wondered how responsible this spirit is for the rate of success among the Dalish Harrowings, compared to the others...It seems quite dedicated.” Irving thought out loud.

Carefully placing the records away from himself, Evallan was stung by shame.

“I have not treated it particularly well,” He confessed. “And I knew it would feel compelled to help me, regardless of what I asked.”

Irving seemed about to advise him but they were interrupted by the creak of the door, Greagoir announcing;

“Well, it seems we finally have correspondence from the Wardens.” He dropped a letter with a blue seal before Irving. “Might be these bloody recruits will be out of our hair, soon enough.”

Evallan watched with intrigue as the First Enchanted tore open the envelope and fell upon the script, his aged eyes squinting. After a moment his gaze lifted.

“Elias Caladrius is a friend to Dorian Pavus, no?”

He nodded, straightening in his chair, not breathing.

“His recruitment was successful. They say he's getting along well.”

Words failed him- Evallan knew what he wished to ask but was unsure if it would be permitted. He stared pensively at the letter Irving held- his intent must have been obvious.

“I imagine you want this news shared immediately...” Trailing off, the elder mage looked towards Greagoir, who exalted, muttering into a gauntlet.

“ _If we allow this,”_ He said tensely, eyes narrowing on Evallan. “You will _cease_ hassling the First Enchanter, and you _will_ tell your bloody spirit friend to _leave my men alone!_ You will sit _still,_ and wait for him to be released- are you _capable of that?”_

Wide-eyed, Evallan nodded and was gone from the room a moment later.

\--

After visiting Dorian Pavus and reassuring himself enough of the man's stability, he cloistered himself in his chambers and drew a circle. In the middle he placed the rune of Compassion, though there would be no wandering the tower this time. What he had to say couldn't wait until he dreamt.

The figment of his brother materialised and stretched it's arms, faking a yawn.

“Never get used to being solid! I have not an idea on how you stomach it, brother!”

He sighed, regarding the spirit passively.

“Can you be serious? I must speak with you.”

“I am never not serious!” It approached and flopped down in front of him, beaming. “Speak your mind!”

Evallan studied it's witless features for a time, the brick of the wall wavering between it's eyes. He struggled with speech- but persevered.

“...I need to thank you, and apologise. I am sorry I have been so cold to you.”

It's brows perked at this, leaning forward with chin on hand.

“You have been here the entire time, protecting what was left of our clan, exactly as Amrallan would. Exactly as I would have asked him to do if he had lived...”

“Ah, you are not so stupid as you look.” It offered with a chuckle- Evallan ignored this.

“But I must know...when did you meet him? How did you come to be here?”

The spirit gave off a laborious sigh, gaze skywards as it mulled over whether or not to share. Or perhaps it was doing this for it's own entertainment- whatever the case, Evallan was relieved it spoke.

“I had always been at the tower. When you all left, I followed- I thought I could help. Then of course...I realised I could help very little. So I returned with you and stayed. And then I did what I could...the way I thought Amrallan might.”

Evallan nodded sluggishly, emotion choking him. He coughed on it, rubbing his eyes until he could suppress the grief.

“I am sorry....you will never be Amrallan. No one could be. We were left and right, you understand?” Removing the hand from his face, he gripped the spirit's shoulder. “But for what you have done in his name...for _that,_ you are my brother.”

Dumbstruck, translucent eyes blinked at him, swiftly brightening.

“That...makes me very happy- _brother.”_

\--

Dim morning grew into bright midday and Dorian Pavus had still not left his chambers.

For hours Evallan sat or lurked, having already harassed enough Templars to know Dorian had certainly been released and was likely in bed- needing to recover from his sleepless nights. Evallan was reluctant to disturb him.

Nor could he focus on anything else until he saw the man free and safe.

So he paced, he sat, he watched the scenery of mages toiling in the garden from high windows...

Bright midday faded into a lazy night and Dorian Pavus was still dead to the world.

_I know he is fine..._

_But I am still anxious for him, damn it all._

“Keeper, have you been here all day?” Fila greeted, Titus alongside her, a chessboard under his arm. “Why don't you just knock? He'll be happy to see you!”

“He will be tired..” He muttered, hunching his shoulders. “I do not wish to disrupt his recovery...”

The couple regarded him with a noticeable hint of pity, quickly swept away as Titus shook the board, pieces rattling in their hidden compartment.

“Do you want to play chess? We can set the board here and wait with you.”

“No, thank you..” Feeling awkward, he did his best to shoo them. “Please, there really is no need to bother yourselves...”

“Mhm..” Fila rolled her eyes and Titus snickered.

“Okay, Keeper!” He jangled the chessboard as they bounded down the hall. “Come over if you want to play chess!”

“Thank you..” He muttered lamely and continued waiting.

Curled up against the wall, he was half-conscious when a creak awoke him. Stumbling to his feet, he almost fell over before coming face-to-face with the man he'd been turning the circle upside-down for.

Dorian didn't appear injured or particularly fatigued; colouring normal, eyes properly focused if a little tired, hair a rats-nest. Rubbing his eyes, a half-smile tugged at his drowsy features.

“ _Evallan?_ Have you been here all day?”

“I- wanted to check on you.”

“You...could have knocked,” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It would have been nice to see you...Well, it's _still_ nice to see you.”

The warmth that emanated from the Tevinter was unbearable- there was no wall between them now. Evallan swallowed nervously and forced himself to stand perfectly still, finding some comfort in that exercise of self-control.

“I did not want to disturb you..”

“Right, of course you wouldn't,” Smiling in bemusement, Dorian glanced up and down the hall. “What time is it? Almost past curfew?”

He gave a stiff nod.

“I'm wondering if I could sneak some food in before the Templars start patrol...you could join me, if you like?” His smile turned to Evallan, welcoming as always. As always, leaving an ache in his chest.

“No, I...”

_...cannot be alone with you._

“I have things I must do...I only wished to see that you are well and...you are well.”

Disappointment flashed over the Tevinter's gaze but he rebounded, smiling again.

“Fine...but you won't get away from sparring. You've been out of practise for what? Three days?” Dorian scoffed. “I'll be slicing circles around you.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ He laughed, head tilting. “You have been in a cell! I will be lucky if you remember how to stand.”

“Suppose we'll have to see, won't we?” Grinning, he patted Evallan's shoulder while striding by.

“I suppose so..” Echoing distantly, he observed as the other mage walked on and disappeared into a stairwell.

Fingertips pressed against the imprint left on his shoulder but he swiftly drew them away.


	13. A Wolf Among Hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 6.0) Blamed for the results of the Deep Roads expedition, Dorian and Evallan are expected to correct what some are considering their mistake.

Somewhere between stealing leftovers from the kitchen and falling back asleep, Dorian had lost track of time. Stuck in a cell with barely any space, he didn't notice the accumulating aches and pains until his limbs were free to move. All he desired was to stretch out in his warm bed and slumber away the discomfort. He would have indulged for longer if sunlight hadn't assaulted his eyes on several occasions, seeping from beneath the door.

Slowly meeting the day, it occurred he'd told Evallan to be prepared for him on the grounds.

_He might have been right about the whole 'not-being-able-to-stand' thing._

But he stood, readied himself and made for the dining hall- and a late breakfast. There weren't many people about- none of his usual company. He decided to grab some items from a table and eat while he walked. Trying to find at least _one_ piece of bread that wasn't stale, a touch at his shoulder caused him to start. Plates clattered as he spun, fully expecting Marcus to be looming over him.

Instead it was Evallan, hand retracting and head lowering.

“I did not mean to startle you.”

“ _Oh, Maker!”_ Dorian laughed giddily, bracing against the table. “You're always a sight for sore eyes, Evallan- but never do that again!”

“I apologise..” Motionless as a statue, only his head moved to indicate a direction. “Marcus has requested us both.”

“ _'Both'...?”_ Losing all appetite, he abandoned the one scrap he'd managed not to drop. “He's not going to want to punish me again, do you think?”

“No..” The Keeper breathed out sullenly. “I am afraid it may not be as simple as that.”

“ _'Afraid'?”_ He chuckled. “You make that sound like isolation would be preferable.”

Evallan paused, regarded him a moment, then turned.

“We shall see.”

They began their short walk through the tower in silence and he soon realised the elf had no intention of small-talk. However, days in isolation had made it a necessity for Dorian.

“I wanted to thank you...You could have got into trouble- I'm surprised you're not.”

Evallan glanced with an exasperated crease around his eyes, visibly ired at the conversation.

“They are reluctant to discipline me over something they consider minor.”

“But not reluctant to discipline _me!”_ Dorian snorted.

“That is why you must not attract further attention to yourself.” Evallan bit out severely then added- softer. “Please...”

Dorian inspected the elf's stern profile, fighting a grin. He dearly wanted to tease- there was no hiding how Evallan agonised over him, veiled in winter as it was. He held himself, thinking it might seem ungrateful.

Entering the barracks, Evallan led him to a floor on the upper level where Marcus waited at an aged table, marred with dents and the errant stain. It was large enough for a dozen people but this late morning it was only the three, the Templar glaring wearily until they seated themselves. Evallan made a point to slip into the chair closest to Marcus, saving Dorian from being in full leering range.

Sitting alongside the Keeper, he tapped fingers against his chair and watched Marcus patiently.

“Pavus,” The Templar seethed, angling forward. “Turns out your friend's alright, I bet you're happy about that?”

“Um...” Dorian glanced at Evallan but he appeared similarly baffled. “Well yes, of course.”

“Well I'm glad someone here...” Marcus chortled a little manically, rubbing his eyes. “...got some good fucking news out of the Deep Roads.”

“ _Are you drunk!?”_ The elf snapped. “What are you babbling about!?”

“I swear to Andraste, Lavellan,” He snarled, leaning back in his chair. “Don't fucking start with me today.”

The two men glowered at each other for some time, leaving Dorian paralysed. Finally, Marcus was satisfied enough by the quiet to speak.

“See the news _I_ got to hear from the Deep Roads...was that the Wardens weren't sure if they got the fucking Emissary. They got the nest, they got _some_ Emissaries...but the freak one that's been messing with the Darkspawn? Not sure...”

“Does this have a _point,_ commander?” Evallan asked in a strained, careful tone.

“The point is...” His eyes pinned the elf and stayed there. “Soon as they left Orzammar, they get reports of swarms of Darkspawn wrecking the farmlands- strategically...Last heard, they were sighted around Lothering- and do you know what everyone's saying they saw?”

The Keeper furrowed his brow, said nothing.

“These fuckers are being manipulated by some kind of magic chain bullshit...Now isn't that funny? Isn't that exactly what _our_ shitbag Emissary was doing?”

“So it escaped the Wardens, or they are sharing their techniques.” Evallan offered tepidly, gaze unmoving from the Templar's leer.

“ _Or- it- escaped-”_ Marcus spat, rearing as if he meant to bite. “Because _you_ went off target and because _both of you-!”_

Suddenly on his feet, fists smashed into wood, the table creaking in offence.

“ _Went on a void-damned blighted fucking walk-about where no one asked you to!_ _You_ collapsed a bunch of tunnels and opened _fuck knows where else!_ Or is it all a _shitting coincidence?!”_

“You have proof of this?!” Evallan shouted back, straightening to a fuller height. “Or is it just your good fortune that you find a way to blame others?!”

“Fuck off, Lavellan! I don't need blighting proof! _You weren't on damned target!”_

“ _And what of yourself?!”_ Standing, the elf's palm slammed the table. “Are you not commander?! Where is _your_ responsibility?!”

Marcus breathed deep and clutched vacant air, reigning himself in. Dorian could practically see a purplish vein on his forehead about to burst.

“I'm not here...to fucking argue...with you.” He meditated upon each syllable as if speaking to himself. “Sit the _fuck down_ , Lavellan.”

Regarding him icily, Evallan lowered from his feet. Marcus remained on his, forcing out each word with audible strain.

“Now...we can't regroup with the Wardens until we take care of this, and no matter how much I argue and list fucking points...the Circle won't let me take anyone except _you two.”_

Rocking on his heels, the Templar clapped in an uproar of gauntlets, smiling sardonically- looking a little crazed, Dorian had to admit.

“ _So con-fucking-grats!_ _You two_ are considered the most capable mages in the _whole fucking Ferelden Circle!_ Doesn't that make you feel fucking good about yourselves?!”

“A-a _little?”_ Dorian chortled his nerves and was silenced;

“Shut up, Pavus.”

Flopping back into his chair, the Templar sharpened his gaze on them both.

“Let me make something clear...this isn't a fucking reward for your skill. This is you _both_ making up for your void-damned mistake. Tomorrow you're going to report here, you're going to gear fucking up, and you're going to do what we should have done in the _fucking_ Deep Roads!”

Another bang of metal against splintering wood.

“ _And I expect you to follow fucking orders!_ And to be on your best void-damned behaviour...” Inhaling, his eyes locked on Dorian. “So tell me, Pavus...are you going to _fucking_ behave?”

“I- yes?” He spluttered, righted his posture “I...will behave?”

He blinked stupidly at the man but it must have been enough, his attention shifting to Evallan.

“And _you,_ Lavellan...are you going to _fucking behave?”_

The Keeper's eyes slivered and his jaw hardened but his mouth didn't move.

“ _Lavellan...”_ Dorian could hear the squeak of the Templar's gauntlets as his fingers balled. “Don't make me fucking ask you twice...”

Heart leaping to his throat, he found himself staring desperately into the side of Evallan's face. Without speech he urged him to just bloody agree so they could be out of this deranged meeting!

The elf's posture seemed to waver- ever so slightly- the hinge in his jaw loosed, a murmur of something foul and Dalish escaping him. Yet he relented, voice full of distaste.

“ _I will behave.”_

“ _Perfect!”_ Marcus gestured with mock-enthusiasm. “Now get the fuck out!”

Chair-legs screeched as Evallan obeyed and Dorian made to follow.

“Not _you,_ Pavus.”

He halted and stared in alarm. Next to him, Evallan also stilled.

“ _Yes you_ , Lavellan- _out.”_

The Keeper didn't budge, eyes narrowing.

“Do you really need to fucking babysit him everywhere?!” Marcus barked and angled to stand.

Catching Evallan's eye, Dorian shook his head in earnest.

_Andraste have mercy, just let it go!_

_Just go, Evallan._

Whirling from them in a fury, the door was thrown shut with such force the entire frame trembled.

“ _Andraste's-flaming-fucking-tits!”_ Marcus snarled at the dramatic exit. “You see this bullshit I put up with when all I'm trying to do is my void-damned job!?”

Dorian decided not to risk speech, viewing the Templar passively. Sighing, the man went on.

“Now...I can't say this in front of him because he's a fucking brat, and will act like he doesn't know how things work,” He said in an almost bemused voice, edging on hysteria. “But I'm expecting him to keep an eye on you...even more, I'm expecting _you_ to keep an eye on _him._ See, he's touched in the fucking head, so I _expect_ him to ruin my day...but you, you're a Maker-fearing, Andraste-worshipping, civilised kind of man...so _we're_ not going to have any trouble out there, _are we,_ Pavus?”

Throughout this rant Dorian noted the commander's dangerous scrutiny, focus never swaying from his features. Mouth desert-like, he struggled to respond.

“Of course not, commander...I'm to keep an eye on Lavellan and follow your orders, is that it?”

“That's it.”

“And if we're ever in a situation where the first contradicts the second...?”

“You keep an eye on Lavellan,” Slicing Dorian apart with his look, he dictated further. “Let me be clear, fairy...If you come back and he doesn't, you're going to wish it was the other way around.”

Dorian left the room shakily, Marcus saying to his back;

“Good talk, fairy.”

He drifted a few steps before Evallan gravitated to his side.

“What did he want?” He grumbled, unable to hide the depth of his concern.

“ _Huh?_ Oh, uh, nothing...” Not wanting the elf to dwell, he attempted to wave it away. “Just throwing his weight around, you know..”

Evallan hissed a curse and motioned with the suggestion of a turn, compelling Dorian to grab his wrist.

“ _Evallan!_ Come on, please, it's really nothing...” Tugging, he drew him away. “Let's spar a little, alright? I really need to stretch before we're thrown to the wilderness again!”

He laughed breezily and the elf's temper quelled, allowing himself to be led.

\--

Out of all the cold mornings Dorian had spent collecting supplies and preparing for unknown dangers, this was certainly the coldest. Partly it had to do with Marcus' insistence to depart early as possible, not wanting to waste anymore time loitering in the tower than he had to. The sky was sunless, the world tinged in blue shadow, and the only activity was the half-conscious group of Templars hauling themselves to-and-from the stables.

No sign of Evallan but he spotted Bauer and ambled towards him, offering a wave. He was received by a nod and a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Pavus. Everything set?”

“Everything set! Just need to grab my sword.” He bounced the travel-pack over his shoulder. “I don't see Lavellan or Marcus?”

“Oh, they're-”

Answering for him was an abrupt stream of profanities from the barracks, incomprehensible through the thick stone but identifiable as Marcus.

“ _Maker's breathe!_ What are they arguing about now?!”

“Could be anything,” Bauer conveyed over the rabble. “Battle strategies, personnel, uniforms, apples, Dalish property law..”

“ _'Apples'?”_ He laughed in bewilderment. _“'Dalish property law'?”_

“They'll argue about any blighted thing!” Bauer's own laughter was more nervous. Nearby, Marcus' shouts were overtaken by the smashing of something weighty.

“Sometimes,” Bauer narrated. “Marcus starts throwing things.”

A litany of vile Dalish spewed from within the barracks, followed by more shatters.

“...And sometimes, Lavellan throws them right back.”

Another uproar of vocals interrupted the young Templar, this time not recognisable as either Marcus or Evallan.

“...Lately, Greagoir's been trying to get between them.”

The rowdiness quietened and Dorian sighed.

“They're _always_ like this? How does anything get _done?”_

“Well...” Bauer tilted his head, observing the now peaceful barracks. “When they're on the Archdemon's trail, they're mostly fine...We were only meant to be here for Lavellan's Harrowing, remember? Then it went kind of wrong...uh, no offence.”

“None taken!” He snickered, decided to pry. “You seem familiar enough with the situation. Would you happen to know the commander's story?”

“Marcus?” He touched his chin in thought. “Well, I know he was an orphan given to the Chantry, and the Blight happened not long after...Asides from the smaller Lavellan, him and the Keeper were the youngest on the field. I think the Chantry decided that'd make them a good fit to work together, but...”

Trailing off, he glanced around himself.

“But..?” Dorian pressed.

“Well, don't repeat this,” Bauer exhaled in defeat. “But I think what really did it...was when the old commander died, and Marcus was promoted. I think Lavellan thinks he'd make a better commander...and I think Marcus resents that.”

Meditating over this, Dorian had to probe further.

“Well... _would_ he make a better commander?”

“ _Lavellan?..._ I guess it doesn't really matter- a mage _can't_ be given command. But...” The young man scratched his head, considering. “Both of them- Lavellan _and_ Marcus- they're half-mad...But honestly, when I'm stuck in a corner? I'd rather be stuck with Lavellan...with Marcus, he'd use you as a battering ram if he thought it'd help.”

“I think I agree with your assessment.” He nodded to indicate the other Templars. “And them?”

“Oh...” Turning to look, Bauer pointed out the trio while explaining. “The big red-head is Franklin Turnblade...I'd just call him Turnblade, if I were you. The shorter one he's joking with? That's Dale Crane- it's okay to call him Dale...and the old one just standing there? That's Augustus Unger...it um, doesn't really matter what you call him- since he's lyrium-addled.”

“Lyrium-addled?” Dorian examined the stone-faced Templar. “And he's still in service? Is that really wise?”

“Well...you can't have a conversation with him or anything, but he still follows orders to the letter, has a strong arm and never forgets how to use it, so...”

_Well, that's grim._

He decided not to comment, instead clapping Bauer on the back in a friendly gesture before heading into the armoury, where he recovered his sword. Lightbringer was absent from its perch, which wasn't surprising. Its wielder was also still absent upon his return- it was the red-haired Templar that called to him.

“ _Pavus!_ You're not going to cause us problems, are you?”

“What?” Honestly perplexed and caught off guard, Dorian was unsure how to respond. “What kind of problems are you talking about, pray tell?”

“The kind of problem where you get our people fucking diverted and the whole mission goes to shit? That kind of problem?”

The man was so grim that Dorian truly couldn't tell if he was serious in his accusation or simply wanted to give him a hard time. Marcus and Evallan arrived before he could speak; the large Templar marching to the stables, Evallan trailing after but stopping at Dorian's side.

“Shut up.” He said to Turnblade, his emotionless voice oddly contrasting the order.

“Fuck you, Lavellan.” Turnblade scowled, stepping closer. “I'm not fucking afraid of you.”

“Said the fool.” Evallan rebuffed.

“ _Less fucking arguing!”_ Marcus howled from the stables. _“More getting on your damn horses!”_

Grumbling, Turnblade made for the other Templars and Evallan's gaze landed on Dorian, bright-eyed despite the stillness of his features.

“You are actually awake.” He offered one of his dry jokes, earning a grin from Dorian.

“I take my duties _very_ seriously, Evallan, you should know this.”

The elf simply rolled his eyes.

There weren't many supplies between the small group, not intending a long journey. A packhorse carried most of the burden, leaving Dorian with his sword and the bag filled with various remedies he refused to part with. If they were somehow separated from the main force again, he wouldn't have to dig around for mushrooms and roots.

At least there wouldn't be any marching on this expedition- all of them would be horsed. It had been years since Dorian had ridden and as they vacated the tower grounds and he wavered, Evallan cast a smirk his direction.

“Do you know what you are doing?”

“What? Of course I do!” Dorian guffawed, steadying himself. “I was educated by the best horse-masters in Tevinter, I'll have you know!”

“Really now?” The Keeper replied tepidly, trotting along without a care.

“Really!” His mount snorted as if in disagreement. “Besides, the horse does all the work.”

There was an almost inaudible rumble in the elf's chest- Dorian scoffed at the repressed amusement.

“The Dalish use aravels and halla, no? Since when are _you_ such an expert?”

“We have specially bred riding-halla, for hunting,” Evallan informed while they crossed the bridge. “Though we had none when we came to the Circle.”

Now free from the shadow of the tower, the Keeper set the pace for the others and Dorian urged his mount to stay alongside him.

“Halla are still different from horses.”

“We traded for horses, at times. They can handle more weight than halla- even the riding ones.”

“Still...” Dorian mock-preened. “Nothing beats a proper education, you know!”

Evallan huffed lightly and looked across at him, a sly glint in his eye.

“You truly believe you learned more from your noble horse-masters, than I did hunting in the Korcari Wilds?”

“ _Ooooh_ hunting in the Korcari Wilds! You're _so_ fearless!” He giggled as he teased.

“Would you like to test your theory?” Evallan lofted a brow, tugging at the reigns of his horse, the beast exalting hot air as if matching his tone.

Realising the elf was serious and he'd maybe provoked his ego too much, Dorian was quick to dismiss the offer.

“With Marcus back there waiting for a reason to rip your head off?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No, I think not.”

They trotted along in tense silence for a moment, Evallan studying him closely. Until the corner of his mouth twitched and he stated.

“Coward.” And was off like someone had set the blasted horse's tail ablaze, leaving Dorian to inhale a whirlwind of dust. Coughing fitfully, he tried to call through the grit;

“ _Evallan, damn it! I wasn't serious!”_

Echoing him was Marcus, shouting from behind the two;

“ _For fuck's sake, Lavellan!_ Go fucking get him, Pavus!”

Needing no more encouragement, Dorian whipped at his mount's reigns and thundered after the rebellious elf ahead- galloping over the blight-spoiled earth as if nothing concerned him. The space between them lessened and Dorian noted though Evallan's usual dark horse was quite powerful, Marcus had made a point to assign his new mage the faster steed. This foresight allowed him to match the elf's pace- but of course he wouldn't play bloody fair!

A hum of magic livened the atmosphere and Evallan's horse charged forward, over-taking Dorian and springing off to to bound over less kind terrain.

“ _That's cheating!”_ Dorian yelled, struggling to follow this new path- or more accurately, his mount struggled, wheezing at him in agitation. _“You can't ward the bloody horse!_ Maker... _That can't be good for the horse?!”_

“The horse is fine!” Evallan remarked jovially, leaping over a dilapidated fence.

The horse in question appeared more than suited to this mania- it was probably accustomed. In contrast, Dorian's mount had no desire to over-exert itself and when beckoned to lunge over the fence it bucked, tossing him aside.

Falling as unceremoniously as a rag-doll, he lay on his back and groaned in both annoyance and defeat. Somewhere above, he heard Evallan chiming with unrestrained mirth.

“Are- are you- alright?” The elf struggled to speak. Hooves clopped towards him.

“ _It's not funny!”_ Dorian exclaimed, swallowing his own amusement as he sat up. “I could have _died!”_

Evallan spluttered harder and Dorian spied him, still horsed, having to support himself against the creature's neck.

“And I would have mourned you eternally!” He managed to spit out between cackles. Watching this uncharacteristic show of expression, Dorian found it impossible to feel anger, even as he sat there aching and muddy.

_I don't mind being the fool if it gets a smile out of you._

Evallan's features hardened and a long shadow fell over Dorian. Breaking his focus, he blinked up at Marcus.

“Fairy...that was fucking embarrassing.” He admonished wearily and clopped away, his men following suit, Turnblade snickering. The elf muttered after them in aggravated Dalish, all serious now as he descended from his mount to aid Dorian.

 _Of course_ you _can laugh at me,_

_but Maker-forbid anyone else does!_

Admittedly this only endeared Dorian to him further. Grasping the offered hand, he was pulled upwards with a dazed smirk.

“Did you have fun embarrassing me?”

“I did not mean to embarrass you.” The Keeper wiped mud from Dorian's face onto a robe-sleeve and gingerly neatened his hair. It was a challenge not to kiss him in that moment, seeing how he fussed...but the Templar presence was a suitable deterrent.

“Back on your horse, Pavus.” Evallan said gently, pressing a hand against Dorian's chest.

“At your command, Ser.” Responding with utmost respect, he mimicked the gesture of affection, secretively palming the amulet beneath Evallan's robes. Colour spotted the man's cheeks, breathing out something between a laugh and a sigh, clearly flustered as he whipped away to find his horse.

 _I know whose command_ I'd _prefer to be under._

Dorian jested to himself while climbing onto his mount, falling back into procession with the Templars. Evallan didn't attempt to retake his lead, accompanying Dorian at the tail of their group as they travelled.

Reports of the destruction caused by this rogue Emissary had not been exaggerated. On their last expedition, signs of Blight had been mostly restricted to the area surrounding the Deep Roads. Now as they neared their destination the green earth faded to sickly black and fewer trees displayed life, standing like brittle matchsticks. Farmsteads they passed were freshly ruined, fields scorched. One barn was still smoking but Marcus showed no intention of examining further.

They never wavered from their direction, following the King's Road to Lothering.

Skirting by the warped forests of the Korcari Wilds, the huddle of village houses and the slanted roof of a chantry peeked at them on the horizon. Lothering was still a few hours away and by now the afternoon sun winked at them through orange-tinted clouds. Marcus slowed and turned onto a winding path, leading them to the edge of a lake that stretched out into the Wilds.

A ramshackle inn waited for them; missing a sign, and with a fenced area that probably once housed animals, now overgrown, the fence itself almost completely floored.

“Innkeeper used to own this said we can use it,” Marcus explained as he dropped from his horse, leading it to a convenient row of posts. “Not any good for him right now. Not like there's enough people on the road to make a living.”

“What does he do now?” Dorian inquired without thinking. Marcus sneered.

“How am I meant to fucking know? If I had to guess I'd say he just fucking drinks.”

“Ah..” Saying nothing else, he dismounted and tied his horse. Once everyone had done the same, Marcus jabbed a thumb towards the inn.

“Let's see what shape it's in. If the roof's fucked we might as well set a blighted camp.”

Obediently he followed the group of Templars into the old building, screwing his face up against the dust and dank that welcomed them. There was little furniture in the main room- what once had to have been a bar. The counter lay in a pile of itself, as did the few furnishings that remained. At least the stone fireplace appeared in good condition. Marcus was quick to approach with a snort, inspecting the hovel where firewood had been kept.

“Course there wouldn't be anything fucking useful left behind...Bauer- Pavus- get us some blighting firewood while we check what state the rooms are in. Won't take long to burn through this junk.” He kicked aside some stray pieces of furniture for emphasis.

Dorian was glad to set off for this randomly-assigned chore, disliking to be cloistered in the small space with the Templars. It struck him as he left with Bauer that Evallan hadn't joined them. Once outside however, he caught a glance of him carrying supplies from the packhorse to a large tree near the lake. Apparently he'd be setting his own camp, regardless of the state of the inn.

He wanted to assist and attempt to coax him into sharing the space with Dorian- so he wouldn't have to shelter with the Templars, of course- but knew he couldn't abandon his task. Basic as it was, he couldn't imagine Marcus would be pleased to have an order ignored.

Together Bauer and himself stalked off into the sparse woods around them, on the hunt for material that was neither soaked nor corrupted by Blight.

“Are you always the one sent off to do this sort of thing?” Dorian questioned, moving aside some fallen branches.

“Hrm? No, not really..” Bauer shrugged and picked up a decent-seeming log. “I think he just says names at random, honestly.”

“I hope that's not how you were assigned command in the Deep Roads.” He wondered aloud.

“Nah,” Bauer threw an amused grin his way. “I think he just trusts me to stay on target. Crane's not really a leader, Augustus couldn't lead even if he decided he wanted to, and Turnblade is, ah...Well, it's funny...he's actually a lot like Marcus...”

Returning to the inn with arms full of firewood, a lengthy but quiet whistle nabbed Dorian's attention. Looking for its source, he saw Evallan leaning upon the tree, a tent constructed next to him. When their eyes met he gestured subtly and Dorian beamed.

“I'll be right back!” He announced to the elf and hurried to place his burden inside, ignoring the meaningful smirk Bauer flashed at him. Marcus paid him little notice, in the middle of dictating orders to the man Dorian knew as Dale Crane.

“Want you to scout ahead. Meet up with the Lothering Templars and find out what's going on- need to know if they've seen that blasted thing, where it could be going...”

He hastened to escape before Marcus remembered his name for some other banal chore, grinning broadly as he made his way to Evallan- slumped against the tree where he'd been left. He dawdled at the inn entrance a second too long, a low voice growling behind him.

“Get out of my blighted way, Pavus.”

Sliding to one side, he blinked as Dale Crane passed.

“I was hardly in your way.” He countered automatically.

“You mages are always in the damn way.”

An impatient shout in Dalish intervened on their discussion- though Evallan hadn't bothered to move from his tree.

“ _I didn't fucking do anything, Lavellan!”_ Crane hollered, storming for his horse. “Your girlfriend was in my bloody way!”

Scoffing, Dorian joined Evallan at his private little camp.

“And here I was beginning to think you were trying to avoid me!”

The elf's mouth twitched with unreadable emotion, muttering;

“I would not leave you to suffer their company.”

“Even if that means suffering mine?” His grin widened but Evallan refused to dignify this, merely looking at Dorian then looking away.

“I am afraid you will have to collect firewood again.” He said while wandering off into the trees where Dorian and Bauer had searched. Groaning, Dorian stomped after him.

“Bauer's an alright sort, isn't he?” He couldn't help insisting on conversation as they worked, even if he had little to say.

“You mean the youngest Templar?” Evallan spoke without making eye contact.

“Mhm. He's certainly more friendly than the others.”

“That matters to you?” The Keeper paused to blink at him.

“It doesn't matter to you?” He blinked back, not really understanding.

“I have always thought a person to be defined by their choices, not their manners.”

“Huh...” Dorian stroked his chin, thinking. “And he chooses to be a Templar, is that what you're getting at?”

Evallan nodded and resumed collecting wood in silence.

Returning to camp, the Keeper occupied himself with building a fire. Dorian relaxed at the mouth of their shelter, smiling while he observed.

“I can do that, if you like,” He offered cheerfully. “Then you don't have to mess with the flint or any of that.”

“I happen to enjoy _'messing with the flint',_ ” Evallan said with a hint of indignation. _“'And all of that.'”_

“ _Of course_ you like making it difficult on yourself!” He jeered- though with no bite. The elf didn't respond, busy with kindling.

Dorian had to admit the whole scene was rather quaint. If it weren't for the occasional howl from Marcus within the inn, he could almost trick himself into believing they'd set off on their own private camping trip. The effect was doubled once the fire blazed and Evallan sat next to him, yawning mildly into his hand.

“...You're not still sleep-walking, are you?” It occurred his presence might have nothing to do with a sense of obligation from the Keeper.

“No. Whatever it is, it is finally done.”

“Oh, that's...that's good.” He struggled to fight off the excitable curl to his mouth, craning his head the other direction.

_You want me here._

_It might not even have anything to do with the Templars..._

_...even if you tell yourself that's all it is._

“Lavellan!” Speaking of which- Turnblade's voice arose from the inn, earning both their attention. He was slouched against the wearied stone with arms crossed, brows arched.

“Didn't you tell me humans smell?” The Templar questioned, lifting his chin to indicate Evallan's company. The elf considered Dorian as if just sighting him, then looked at Turnblade, blank-faced.

“Perhaps it is just the Ferelden humans who smell.”

Scowling, Turnblade kicked open the door somewhat violently as he left, grumbling;

“Fuck you, Lavellan.”

“He...” Dorian began once he was out of earshot. “...is not admirable in his manners, _or_ his choices.”

A small burst of sound issued from Evallan's chest- Dorian knew he restrained a laugh.

The remainder of the day was spent milling about the camp, picking at rations and waiting for the return of Dale Crane. When he arrived night had long fallen and Dorian was exhausted with no desire to hear what news he brought. Evallan would certainly tell him if it was important, so he collapsed into the pile of bedding the elf had prepared.

He couldn't hazard the time when he was disturbed by shuffling about the tent- blearily spotting pale robes and dark hair, he relaxed. It was just Evallan pulling off his cloak and climbing into his own bedding, close enough to Dorian's that he wouldn't be caught in the man's personal winter. Feeling him lay alongside him, Dorian attempted to sleep- but something was bothering him.

Opening his eyes, they were caught by the impenetrable hailstorm of Evallan's. He froze.

“Is something-?” He was unable to finish, lips crushed by the elf's, a steadfast hand gripping the back of his neck. Having promised himself not to waste such an opportunity, he pressed into the kiss, angling up from his bedding. His intent was to coax Evallan onto his back but he acted first, shoving Dorian and pinning him there bodily- he saw no reason to protest.

His mouth freed, Evallan snarled something in impassioned Dalish, each syllable whisking against Dorian's lips.

“I don't know what that means,” He choked out, grinning. “But I think I approve of it.”

Apparently he wasn't meant to approve. Evallan straightened- away from him- inhaling, features twisted in a myriad of emotions.

_Fuck! Shit! Damn it all!_

_Idiot!_ Of course _he didn't_ mean _to!_

He sat up and recomposed while the Keeper removed himself from Dorian's form, grabbing his cloak.

“Evallan, I think we should-”

He was going to say _'talk'_ , but predictably Evallan had no desire for conversation. Mid-sentence and he was gone, canvas fluttering after him.

For a while Dorian sat and breathed, collecting himself and his thoughts. Frustration whirled inside and he stamped it out, requiring his less considerate emotions to still so he could think. He didn't move until wits returned, then he stumbled out into the dark.

The focus of his confused agitation was huddled by the fire, bundled in his cloak, glaring at the flames. Dorian stood some feet away and didn't make himself comfortable, not wanting to alarm.

“So you're just going to sleep out here now, then?” Even willing patience from himself, he was exasperated.

“Yes.” Evallan said without looking at him.

Dorian exhaled dramatically and rubbed his eyes, puzzling over how to handle the situation.

“Well...how about _you_ go back to the tent, and I'll stay here?”

“You will feel cold. I will not.”

He glanced at the inn, considering.

“Well, there's probably a room still vacant inside..?”

“No.” He still wouldn't look and Dorian was becoming incensed, grinding out words.

“You can't _actually_ stop me, you know!”

“I told you not to go.” The elf peeked at him over his shoulder, tone certain as his eyes dragged back to the fire. “You will not go.”

Dorian was unsure what was more infuriating- that Evallan was so attached to his own despair, that he wouldn't compromise to not sleep outside, or that his statement was absolutely correct! Whatever ired him more, it left his mouth tasting sour.

“Evallan...has it ever occurred to you this whole priestly nonsense is actually rather childish?”

He didn't speak, centred on the flames.

“I'd go so far as to call it cowardly!” Dorian threw at his back.

Still nothing. Evallan seemed to care only for the flicks of red and orange dancing before him.

“And now you're not even going to say two words to me, is that it?!”

There was a long pause. Then, two words;

“Goodnight, Dorian.”

Inwardly erupting, he stomped into the tent, grinding teeth.

_Alright- so I was wrong!_

_You really_ do _just want to shield me from the blasted Templars._

Sprawled on his back, he insisted to himself to cease clenching his jaw but was having trouble, with all the irritation and strain and- _hurt,_ damn it-

 _What's_ wrong _with me?!_

_He's not the last bloody man in Thedas!_

_If I wanted my feelings played with- well, I could go anywhere for that!_

_The Circle is hardly lacking emotionally-constipated men with no social skills!_

_But Andraste have bloody mercy on me!_

_It_ has _to be_ you, _doesn't it?!_

He smothered his face into the blankets, internally screaming.

\--

Movement and conversation from outside roused him first, then the morning stuffiness of the tent. Dorian hadn't camped for years before their first expedition and found the heat that inevitably clogged the shelter by daylight intolerable. Something else ailed him more- noticing how late it was as he clambered through the entrance...

_He didn't wake me..._

Perhaps the elf simply meant for Dorian to be at his best, so allowed him to sleep late. He hadn't disturbed him on the first night of their Deep Roads mission after all- but Dorian had been drunk, and Evallan likely embarrassed over his fade-walking.

_Maybe he's just embarrassed again..?_

It wasn't as if he had no reason to be. In hindsight, it occurred Evallan's struggle with his own self-control was probably quite demoralising for him.

 _And_ of course _I had to go and call him a bloody coward over it!_

Attempting to dismiss these thoughts, he ventured to join the loose group of Templars outside the inn. Both Evallan and his horse were gone. Dorian assumed he was scouting the area for want of something to do. Seeing him, Marcus grunted.

“You're lucky we're waiting for Lavellan to get back.”

“Where from?” He inquired drowsily, stretching as he approached.

“Making sure the road is clear. Faster to let him do it than all of us go bumbling around,” The Templar gestured towards the inn. “Get some food in you. Won't be long now.”

Nodding, he ambled in that direction and grabbed the typical scraps of bread and meat from the pack of rations left inside. There was nothing to comfortably sit on except the floor but at least some embers still burned in the fireplace, allowing Dorian to hold onto a little of the heat from the tent.

By the time Dorian returned to them, so had Evallan. Horsed and at the edge of the path, he exchanged words with the Templar Commander. Once done, Marcus made for his own mount while calling to Dorian.

“ _Ready, Pavus?!”_

“And willing!” He called back, hastening to retrieve his mount.

He lagged behind their group and had no plan to shadow Evallan- convinced the man would prefer to avoid him. Yet that powerful black horse drifted to his side, it's rider hanging his head demurely. Uncertain of his intent or how to receive this, Dorian was wordless and restrained his expression. After clopping along for a few minutes, Evallan muttered;

“Are you still angry with me?” His tone was rather pitiful and he made a point not to make eye contact. Taken aback, Dorian was speechless for a time.

“Evallan...I was never _angry_ exactly, I just...”

He fought with his emotions and his words, wrangling them into something civil and coherent.

“I don't like watching you make yourself miserable, have you ever thought of that? Have you ever thought that your clan...that Fila and Villyen...they might _like_ to see you happy, even if they don't understand at first?”

“You do not know my brother.” Evallan retorted, grim.

“But I can tell he takes after you,” Dorian countered- kindly as able. “And _you'd_ want _him_ to be happy, wouldn't you?”

Gnawing at his lip, Evallan gave a furious shake of his head.

“It is not as simple as that.” With that mumble he urged his mount to pick up speed, overtaking Dorian and the Templars.

“Trouble with the missus, Lavellan?” Turnblade mocked.

“Eat shit.” Evallan said coolly, riding by without a glance.

“ _Cut it the fuck out!”_ Marcus snapped. _“Both_ of you!”

Obeying this, Evallan charged forward without speech, leading their pack for the rest of the journey.

The distance between them and Lothering shortened and the messy patch of buildings grew, the roof of the chantry and the many tiny windows and doors becoming evident. Another detail became evident too- streams of grey cloud sprouting from rooftops, lingering ominously over the village. Though he had trouble discerning whether it was chimney smoke or something more, Evallan was more decisive.

“Commander- smoke.”

“I see it, Lavellan,” Marcus growled, fists tight around reigns. _“Double-time, men!”_

Though the group was determined to rush they could do nothing but observe as smoke extended and hungry flames sprang over a corner of the village. Evallan became visibly restless, leaving the others behind as he imbued his steed with magic, practically tilling the ground beneath the force of it's hooves. The rest had no hope of matching him but Marcus allowed it, likely weighing the risk of Evallan acting alone against the risk of none of them reaching their goal in time.

Once at Lotherings edge the danger became clear- not that there had been many possibilities. Darkspawn roamed the village, clashing with Templars and guards, ploughing through civilians and wrecking anything in sight. The dirt-path for the chantry in the centre was littered with hostile shapes and the north-most point of Lothering was ablaze.

Evallan was the first to plunge into chaos, undeterred by the group of howling Darkspawn that awaited him. For all their ferocity they were unprepared to be trampled by a fully-warded, half-wild horse and it's equally savage rider. Creatures that lunged from either side to ambush this new target were summarily impaled on crystal spires.

“ _The chantry, Lavellan!”_ Marcus roared. _“Clear a fucking path!”_

The Keeper swiftly followed this direction, crushing fallen Darkspawn as he galloped onwards, dangerous shards of ice materialising around him, both cutting through enemies and obstructing the path. Dorian and the Templars sought after it, staying as much at the elf's back as possible.

The chantry yard was brimming with violence but here it was not so hopeless- the Templars had regrouped enough to keep the Darkspawn at bay. Tightly-packed, they stood in formation right outside the chantry doorstep, hacking and shield-bashing at the press of bodies. Evallan stomped through this mass and the rest followed, cleaving limbs from their high vantage points. Dorian was the last to gallop into the yard, intentionally hanging back. Evallan and the Templars were crushing their opposition so efficiently, he could think of himself as merely a hindrance.

Within minutes the combined efforts of the chantry Templars and their own party slaughtered the mob. Evallan materialised a wall of ice at the singular entrance- though projectiles could still be hurdled over the walls, they at least had time to discuss their next move.

Unseating from his horse, Marcus made a bee-line for the chantry Templar's lead.

“ _The fuck happened?!”_ He spat in outrage. “You idiots told my man you hadn't seen the blighted things all day!”

“They surprised us- barely had time to get people inside,” The nameless Templar breathed out, wiping blood from his helmet. “Burst in through an old cellar. Then these things kept appearing...”

He nudged one of the corpses with his boot. Dorian noted it was more spindly than the other Darkspawn, small but with gangly limbs- reminding him a little of the aberration he'd encountered in the Deep Roads. Except these were more compact- and less fearsome.

“Shrieks,” Marcus seethed. “I fucking hate Shrieks.”

“This was a calculated attack.” Evallan observed from his mount, eyes darting around.

“Then _that fucker's_ here,” Marcus snarled, grabbing the chantry Templar by his armour. “Where's the blighted Emissary?! Did you see it?!”

“The- the what?” The man flustered, clueless.

“ _Green as fucking elfroot, you are!”_ Shoving him away, Marcus glowered about the area.

Dorian searched too- but everything on the other side of the chantry wall was carnage veiled in smoke. It was almost impossible for his untrained eye to pick out specific shapes in the mania and when he looked too closely, he wished he hadn't. Not everyone had made it to safety and sighting one crippled, defenceless form was enough for his eyes to yield.

Beside him, unswayed, Evallan scoured the morbid scenery. With a bestial snarl he threw himself from his horse and ran for the wall of ice. A wave of his hand dispelled a portion so he could sprint into the smoke and flames, hunting something only he saw.

“ _That's right!”_ Marcus bellowed after him in triumph. _“Fetch, boy!”_

Dorian sat rigidly, staring after the flourish of pale robes- Marcus had told him to keep an eye on him, but he was reluctant to act without a direct order...

“ _You too, Pavus!”_ The Templar Commander rid him of this indecision. “The rest of you- with me!”

Leaping for his own two feet, Dorian abandoned his steed and tailed Evallan, as rapidly as his body knew how. Darkspawn still fought with Templars and guards but in the direction he ran, there were only grotesque ice sculptures and a flurry of robes, progressing across the village.

“ _Evallan- wait!”_

The elf had become a wolf possessed, chasing his prey with rabid determination, snarling viciously as he threw enemies aside, attention never breaking from- _where was the damn thing?!_

Squinting down the warpath Evallan was on, at the end he beheld a towering figure, encased in a bubble of magic and hovering a little off the ground. Most of the buildings there were burning or mid-collapse but what startled Dorian was the group of lowlier Darkspawn encircling their target. Unperturbed by this, Evallan appeared determined to cut through them with little strategy.

_This isn't good- he's hardly paying attention!_

Probably the Keeper was adamant to make up for what was claimed as his mistake- refusing to let the Emissary slip. Fortunately, Dorian had learned a trick to handle such a scenario.

“ _Evallan!”_ He barked out, planting his feet firmly where he stood. _“Move aside- damn you!”_

The urgency in his tone compelled the elf to do so, slashing at enemies still trained on him as he slunk off the path, out of sight behind a wall. Dorian was simultaneously preparing his cast, releasing it once Evallan moved. It was the spell he'd conjured in the Deep Roads; skeletal forms twice the size of the chantry extended from his feet, thrashing and howling.

_I think I've decided..._

_Certainly I'll call this '_ Walking Death' _!_

Just like in the Deep Roads, these lowlier Darkspawn had no defence against the beckoning. The river of gnarled forms erupted in desperate fury, abandoning their Emissary to overrun Dorian. Unleashing his sword from its belt, he took on his fighting stance, ready for the wave to crash over him. After what he'd experienced on their last expedition, these ugly, wailing creatures were nothing more than pests.

When they were close enough he initially set off a plume of fire, the tremor of his spell flinging most of them away, embers devouring some of the weaker ones. Beyond the forms struggling to right themselves he spied Evallan, loitering by the wall he'd hid behind and staring at Dorian, wide-eyed in concern.

“ _I can handle them!”_ He roared as confidently as possible. _“Stay on target!”_

Snapping out of his worrisome expression, the Keeper nodded, reflecting Dorian's confidence. Whirling around, he pelted it for the undefended Emissary.

_That's right- you and me!_

_We have this!_

Switching his attention to the activity bumbling towards him, he flung himself into motion as he'd done many times now. Each lunge and parry led to another, the monsters barely requiring his full skill. Whenever there was enough of a gap between him and the dwindling opposition, he let loose with more flames and quakes. Admittedly he was feeling quite proud- his will couldn't match Evallan's but no one could say he fought with less efficiency.

In what felt like no time at all the mob was sprawled around him and his eyes flew across their bodies to find Evallan.

The Keeper was still locked in combat with the Emissary. Around them the fires had been replaced by frost, the entire scene consumed in winter. Yet it wasn't enough- the damn thing still stood- or levitated, anyway. Patches of ice clung to it's shield, the light of which seemed to have dimmed. At this point Evallan was striking that shield with Lightbringer profusely, each assault whining over the buildings like a broken bell.

Dorian hastened for them, sword raised above his head, aiming to slice into the Emissary's defences alongside Evallan. However the creature was intelligent enough to realise it's disadvantage- it had lost it's fellows and now stood against two skilled mages with most of their willpower intact.

In a flash of sickly-green light, it vanished. Dorian hadn't even reached in time to give aid.

Evallan spun around, growling.

“It is still here!” He grabbed Dorian's shoulder in earnest. _“Find it!”_

With that he glanced around, issued a bestial grunt, then leapt to clamber over a wall and onto a roof. Dorian blinked after him, watching as the elf proceeded to vault over the ruined, icy structures as if he'd been born in the bloody treetops.

_Well he might have been, for all I know..._

Having spent most of his life with two feet securely on the ground- _like a sane bloody person!_ \- Dorian was forced to search from below. He shadowed Evallan as best he could, thinking that if the Keeper missed something from above, he could still catch it.

“ _THERE!”_ Whatever Evallan saw, it was out of Dorian's line of sight. Over his head the Keeper progressed over rooftops and he charged after him. They came to about Lotherings fringes when Dorian was blocked off by more walls and buildings while Evallan merely pounced, disappearing behind them.

“ _KAFFAS!”_ He shouted, frantically navigating around these obstructions. _“WAIT, Evallan!”_

He wondered if the Keeper even had the word in his vocabulary. Gradually he found his way and followed the obvious clues to Evallan's presence- long trails of ice heading for the Wilds, into a dark cluster of trees. He'd been Fade-Stepping so as not to lose the Emissary but Dorian knew there was no point in imitating this- Evallan's Fade-Step was anything but usual. To attempt catching up using the same spell would not only be fruitless but also sap an enormous amount of will.

So he sprinted on his own two feet, yelling at the trees even though he doubted there would be a response.

“ _Evallan! Damn you- slow down!”_

Then he halted abruptly, stunned into stillness by a bizarre and frightening sound- like a mountain of glass shattering all at once. He didn't have to wonder at the source- in half a second the trees he made for were strangled by frost and not just that. An entire section of the wooded area had frozen over and was being assailed by merciless blizzard.

He stood in complete awe and shock- this wasn't a mere cast, a contained bubble of winter as per usual for Evallan or any other mage. The weather itself had transformed, the environment bending to the man's will- grey clouds gushed hail, the larger trees were instantly brittle, the smaller vegetation sheared clean off the earth by unnatural force.

It was an island of winter calamity in the middle of regular, green Ferelden.

His pulse quickened in fear but not for himself or the trees, or anything unfortunate enough to be in Evallan's path.

_Maker, please-_

_Please, let him be alright._

He commenced his charge, having to push against howling winds once he neared the cluster. Trudging through a thin layer of snow, he noted with some relief it was already melting.

_He has a personal bubble, but..._

_how much of his own spell can it stand?!_

To find out, all he had to do was follow the path of cold disarray. Before him the woods were crushed or swept away, as if a dragon had careened through, trampling the environment as it went.

“ _EVALLAN!!”_ Screaming against the chill, he pressed on.

As he walked the fierceness of this blizzard dissipated, calming him somewhat. He could feel the hum of magic settling, drawing back into its source. Coming upon an unnaturally-formed clearing, he sighted Evallan- still standing but hunched, bodies of those things Marcus called _'Shrieks_ ' strewn all around.

“Evallan...are you alright?” He gasped in and out, able to slow his pace and his nerves now he actually saw the stupid man.

“Led me...here...” The elf said breathlessly, unmoving. “Ambushed.”

Studying him as he drew to his side, several things chilled Dorian that had nothing to do with the magical weather. Evallan's fame was tremulous, his colouring devoid of even a hint of life- white as a corpse- no, even whiter.

And something else- something important that was absent.

Placing an unsteady hand on the man's shoulder, his heart hammered painfully against his chest at what he felt- or what he didn't feel.

_Perhaps...perhaps his robes merely caught the chill._

But as his hand slid upwards to cup the elf's face, the same sensation pricked his fingers.

“Evallan...” He said in a hush. “...You're cold.”

Exhaling, the Keeper blinked up at him from his slouch. Raising his hand before his face, digits grasped the air with difficulty, a shuddering breathe leaving him.

“So I am.” He stated, unfeeling.

“But...but if you're cold...” Dorian's squeaking voice didn't get far in its statement- Marcus shouted over him.

“ _Lavellan!”_ Boots scrunched the earth behind. _“Where the fuck is it?!”_

“It made for the Wilds,” Evallan conveyed dutifully, recomposing. “I suspect it nests there.”

They conversed more but Dorian heard nothing except his own panicked thoughts.

_If you're cold..._

_That means Lightbringer's cast has surpassed your own..._

_...and has surpassed your vessel's ability to shield itself._

That was all he could think as he fell into line with Evallan and the Templars, completely mute. He observed the man's back, saw how his shoulders still quivered- but now wasn't the time to mention it. Their hunt wasn't over.

With Evallan in the lead and Dorian close behind, they traversed until snow became normal soil.

“There is an old fort ruined here.” Evallan mentioned to Marcus.

“I remember.” The Templar sneered. “If it's nesting anywhere, that'd be it.”

Trees gave way to uneven, dead earth, rockier terrain and ancient ruins. The aged suggestion of a path marked their destination- a solemn, half-crumbled fort. From their distance they could spot shapes of varying size dotted on parapets or patrolling outside. Closing the gap between them and huddling behind some rocks, the true nature of these shapes became evident.

“I was wondering where it was keeping all the fucking freaks.” Marcus said grumpily- and had fair reason to.

Reports stated this Emissary surrounded itself with unique, transformed Darkspawn but thus far they only encountered grunts. Now they found where the creature chose to keep these beasts; a chain-flailing Ogre guarded the entrance, one of the bent figures hunting the perimeter was akin to the aberration from the Deep Roads, and Dorian saw several archers atop the walls sported chain around their shoulders, threaded into their bows- anything struck would be dragged or pinned.

“You think it wanted us to come up here?” Dale Crane asked. “Payback for driving it out of it's home?”

“Or this is it's home,” Evallan supplied. “And it keeps these here to defend it.”

“Or _you_ drove it here and don't want to admit it's _your_ blighted fault!” Turnblade snapped.

“ _All of you fucking stop!”_ Marcus hissed. _“Let me think!”_

“We need to press for the Emissary. Without it, they will be headless.”

“I fucking _know that,_ Lavellan- _shut up!”_

Quietening down, they collectively allowed Marcus to think.

“How many archers got chains up there? Three?” Marcus thought aloud- Evallan nodded. “We need them to fire off and get stuck, and we need time to do it.”

“I can wall off the Ogre and that creature for some time.”

“That's what I'm fucking counting on. But I don't want you and your Tevinter poodle here to waste your time with these things,” Marcus rumbled as he thought. “You wall them off- freeze them- I don't care. Then you get your way inside- we'll keep these stupid fuck archers busy and take care of the rest. If it doesn't take too long, we'll help you inside.”

Evallan firmed his jaw and stared pensively at the target. Gaze dragging back to Marcus, he pressed;

“Are you sure you do not need me here? I can kill that small wolfish one, at least.”

“No,” The Templar shook his head. “I don't want you wasting more will on these little fucks. You make for the Emissary- you want to help us? Behead that blighting arsefaced fucker before anyone out here dies.”

Evallan nodded firmly and set his sights on the wrecked fort gate. Dorian couldn't help be discomforted for the second time at how amiable the harshly contrasting pair seemed- as long as they could agree on a target.

The Templars watched as Evallan and Dorian sauntered out into the open, aiming for the entrance but doing so unhurriedly. Evallan could likely escape the Darkspawn's notice on his own but not with Dorian accompanying him, so there was no point in trying with archers on alert.

“You heard all that, I hope.” Evallan inquired while unleashing Lightbringer, the glare of the celestial blade immediately garnering hostile attention. An arrow whizzed by and Dorian heard the stamp of the Ogre's huge feet.

“I have ears, don't I?” He bantered, wielding his own blade.

“Do humans have ears?” The elf lifted a hand, the air around them growing cold. “I never noticed, they are so small.”

Dorian snorted and prepared himself, waiting for Evallan to finalise his cast. On one side of them the Ogre loomed forward, on the other he heard rattling chains- the aberration skulking for the unknown noises. In front of them archers were readying themselves.

“They will not have time.” Evallan assured him, peering at the battlefield with luminous eyes.

The elf's fingers curled and ice split through the ground, creating a fortress atop a fortress- or an extra ledge, at least. Marcus had directed Evallan to obstruct the Ogre and aberration but of course he couldn't be satisfied with that much. His wall of frost blockaded each side of the fort path and climbed the parapets, ruining the archers' line of sight.

Though it appeared those chain-enhanced bows were of sturdier stuff; with a light crash one flew through the wall, headed towards them. They scrambled apart and it punctured the ground, sticking there.

“Idiot.” Dorian guffawed, waving a hand over the chain. Heat erupted from the spot, metal and earth bubbling and then melding together.

“Clever.” Evallan complimented, tilting his head. Another projectile shattered through the blockade, sailing over them.

“ _Would you two stop messing around?! Fucking go!”_ Marcus roared, the clash of his armour signalling his approach. _“The rest of you!- Remember your blighting shields because I'm not playing tug-of-war with your fucking corpse!”_

They went, Evallan guiding Dorian with a tug by the wrist.

He couldn't help noticing-

his hand was still cold.

Running out into a barren courtyard, they were greeted by a hail of arrows but no chains- the specialised archers were occupied by the ruckus outside. These lesser ones couldn't break through the wall- all their attention had diverted to targets they had a chance of hitting.

Lightbringer's shield manifested around them, arrows harmlessly bouncing away.

“ _We do not have time for this!”_ The unerring light of Evallan's spirit-touched eyes honed in on the crowd- it was Dorian's turn to squeeze his wrist.

“Don't waste your energy on this lot!”

He acted before the Keeper could deny him- a flick of his wrist and vicious flames sprouted from the centre of the swarm, causing immediate chaos. The shrieking Darkspawn careened into it's fellows, the blaze leaping from one to the other.

“See? Sometimes a bit of fire is handy!” He joked while rushing across the yard, Evallan sprinting through the adjacent door in no time.

“ _Wait! I'm-”_

 _'Going to lose you again'_ were the words that never left him. Like before, Evallan would wait for nothing- he was already on a manic Fade-Step down the hall, almost out of Dorian's sight. A crash of destructive light met him somewhere in that direction and Dorian had no choice but to run towards it, yelling.

“ _Evallan! Can you be sane for one moment?!”_

That was obviously too much to ask. Down one ominous, empty hall and Dorian found merely ice encroaching on all paves- even the ceiling. He could feel it in the air and down another hall, it was still all he found. Ice and steadily-dropping temperature.

_It's probably teleporting...and he's trying to Fade-Step after it..._

_...and I'm running after both of them in circles like a drunken bloody nug!_

In truth he couldn't tell where he'd started from- he must have been turned around at least thrice. It wasn't a large fort but its insides lacked anything significant as landmarks- no paintings or furnishings, all looted years ago or rotted into dust.

“ _Kaffas!_ Shit...shit shit shit...!” Grumbling, he sprinted for where it felt coldest- where Evallan's cast was freshest. Dorian was unable to catch up but the crazed elf _had_ to stop or turn the same corner as him eventually!

Dorian turned a corner but it wasn't Evallan waiting for him.

Towering above and considering him with ghoulish features was the Emissary- seeming to smirk with it's shrivelled mouth. Though perhaps Dorian was imagining it.

_Or maybe it meant to separate us._

_Maker, Evallan! Why couldn't you just..._

A swipe of a gangly limb and Dorian leapt away, brandishing his weapon.

_Then again- maybe this is a good thing._

Like everything else in the bloody world, this Emissary naturally underestimated Dorian when compared to Evallan. If Dorian could keep it distracted until the Keeper arrived- not unlike his performance in the Deep Roads...

He was lunged for again but this time not with a limb- a bolt of lightning aimed for his hand. Having been disarmed once by Darkspawn in such a manner, he was prepared to swerve- though didn't avoid a strike to his boot. Crumpling with a snarl, he instinctively sent a plume of fire into the creature's face.

It reared back, unleashing ghastly wails while it floundered against temporary blindness. Dorian quickly assessed the damage of his stung foot- the Emissary's lightning had burnt through the leather and his muscles ached, but could still move.

He knew it would charge for him again- either with magic, or those lengthy arms. His approach had to be the same as Evallan's- unrelenting. He propelled himself towards his enemy, sword swinging, embers popping at his heels. Even if the creature could avoid the fire of his blade it would have to teleport from the hall to avoid the fistful in his opposite hand. Dorian suspected it still didn't identify him as a high enough threat to attempt this.

That assumption was correct- the Emissary refused to flee beneath his assault and, having just dealt with one of his spells, was inclined to defend against the new burst of flame. Ignoring the mage's sword, it threw up a minor shield to deflect the fiery cast and was thrown back in shock when seared by Dorian's blade.

_I've actually got it on the run!_

But it knew that too and wouldn't loiter for the sake of giving him an advantage- as in Lothering, in a wisp of smoke the Emissary was gone.

Spinning, he caught a flash of movement and charged as if his life depended on it. Whirling around the corner, needle-like appendages grabbed his collar and it occurred he might have been a little hasty.

Lifted upwards, he blinked down at the grinning, skull-like face and was almost paralysed by fright - before he remembered he still held his sword. Slicing across the creature's arm, it howled wetly but refused to release, instead slamming Dorian into the wall.

The first slam winded him- still he flailed his sword and felt it connect.

The second slam blurred his vision- still he gripped his sword.

By the third, the whole world spun and he couldn't tell if he still held his sword.

Then a cool wind whistled down the hall, like a welcome breeze on a sweltering day.

_About time, you fool..._

He thought dizzyingly while the air around him chilled. In and out of consciousness, all he knew was that at some point the hand clutching his robes had completely frozen. A second later it was falling away like snow and he was falling into Evallan's arms.

_Idiot...you could have just waited._

Vision spotting and limbs the consistency of butter, he was unable to voice this complaint. Bundled across Evallan's knees, he felt a hand sweep some wetness from his hair and noted those careful fingers were as cold as the floor. Admittedly they soothed the throb in his skull- but it couldn't be a good sign in regards to Evallan's health.

“ _Ma vhenan...”_ Dorian swore he heard some apologetic mutterings while Evallan brushed at his hair, tending to the head wound. All he processed was that one phrase and what he thought meant _'you are injured'_ and _maybe 'I'm sorry'_? Stirring restlessly and sceptical of his half-conscious senses, he willed himself to speak.

“Did you say something..?”

“ _What..?”_ Evallan uttered very quietly, his entire frame stilling. “No...I did not...Please- hold still.”

He obeyed, silent and unmoving until his vision corrected and he could sit upright without protests from his skull.

“Do I have a scar?” He asked, grinning- but Evallan regarded him no less sullenly.

“I doubt it will show through your hair, but....I am sorry...I should have waited.”

“That's right, you should have!” Dorian attempted to laugh it off. “My blood is on your hands!”

Unfortunately the joke flew over the Keeper's head like a badly-aimed arrow. He stared in clear horror, wide-eyed. Dorian swiped the elf's hands, holding their blood-stained digits between them with more awkward laughter.

“It's a _joke,_ Evallan! My blood really is all over you.”

Blushing fiercely, he retrieved his hands with a low mutter.

“This is no time to joke...”

Helping Dorian to his feet, the pair stalked the halls.

“Well...what now?”

“I have a suspicion. As it evaded me, it seemed to want to avoid the basement level. There may be a tunnel there.”

“This far out...? Wouldn't that cut down on the likelihood of it being from the same thaig as _'that fucker'_?”

“ _That fu...?_ Oh, what Marcus has called it,” Evallan breathed out a light chuckle. “It does make it less likely...Though in truth, there is no way of knowing. But we must inspect the entrance and collapse it, nonetheless.”

To that end they backtracked for a room with a staircase leading into a basement cellar. Though nothing remained of its original purpose, Dorian guessed it had once stored wine. Now the cavernous space stored dust and Darkspawn corpses- and the occasional human one.

They journeyed through the musty darkness with their magical blades providing light, an orange and white glow banishing the shadows like a giant firefly. However the light didn't reveal nearly as much as the building stench did.

A signature scent- once you've known it, you always recognise it- and Dorian had known it since he was a youth.

It was death. Plain and simple.

“Is it...a nest?” He hazarded, pulling his collar over his nose.

Evallan hesitated both in his stride and his response;

“Something like a nest...I would suggest you wait here.”

“What? Why?” He'd come this far- he wasn't about to retreat now.

The Keeper shuffled, struggling with words- looking especially pitiful as he did. His colouring was still drained and his frame sometimes quivered.

“These Emissaries who enjoy to...experiment,” Evallan touched his forehead as if willing strength from himself. “They take other living things- take pieces from them. Their remains carry Blight.”

“You're saying it's...experiments, or what's left of them or what have you- are probably down there...” Slowly understanding, he furrowed his brow. “And you think protecting me from that is more important than me fulfilling my purpose here- _which is to stay by your side?”_

Groaning intolerantly, Evallan gestured with his hand in a form of dismissal and continued. Taking that to mean he had no energy or intent to argue, Dorian walked alongside him.

Death bore down on them- the flimsy collar Dorian hid behind did nothing to muffle the reek. At the far-end the cellar had caved into a narrow passage, the pungent rot worse at every step. Evallan led them, moving swiftly- he probably wouldn't be too apologetic if he lost Dorian here, he supposed.

The passage was short and branched into two alcoves; from one there was a slight draft, the presence of the glow of the Deep Roads. From the other the light was dingier, the air stuffier and one could hear a faint, profuse wheeze.

Offering him a concerned glance, Evallan plunged into the thick atmosphere, Dorian regrettably shadowing him.

He had to confess his assumptions as to what the Emissary's workshop would contain were half-formed. Perhaps if he'd calculated more thoroughly he would have accepted Evallan's invitation to wait outside.

As it was he found himself standing in what he could only think of as an alter to decay. There were slabs and tables strewn around, filled with rusted tools both of the magical and enchanted variety, all stained with blood. That would have been enough- that was in the realm of his imagination.

What existed outside of his imagination were the sheer amount of dismembered, decomposing limbs piled high and sporadically throughout the room. The mutilated corpses of both Darkspawn and person dangling from the walls or stuffed in cages. That some of them still breathed even with their innards exposed, and a few blue-tinged eyes were able to leer at him from bodiless heads- this was certainly outside the scope of his imagination.

_That would be the wheezing, then._

In shock, he stared morosely into space, not knowing where to look. Breakfast rose up from his stomach and he forced himself to swallow. He wasn't going to be known as the recruit who spewed all over the place the first time he encountered this sort of accursed thing.

“What...does it feed them?” The words escaped before he could plug them.

“...People, other Darkspawn, whatever it can find in abundance.” In contrast to his uninitiated shock, Evallan seemed only exhausted by the situation. His eyes appeared to have aged ten years and he rubbed at them, issuing a sigh.

“I don't know why I asked.” Dorian shuddered. “I didn't _want_ to ask.”

Shaking his head, Evallan's dead-eyed stare pinned the gruesome scene.

“You can do nothing here, you see? Step outside and wait.”

Still paralysed and finding his senses, Dorian failed to comprehend.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

Evallan gestured vaguely with his hand, sweeping it over the walls of half-alive bodies.

“Everything here is dead.”

Not helped by that indirectness, it still took Dorian a moment to grasp his meaning. Once grasping it, he had to point out his growing concern throughout their mission.

“Evallan...I don't think you should risk another large cast. Let me-”

“You will do what?” He countered without looking, eyes trained o his wretched targets as if they were in silent conversation.

“I hadn't really thought about-”

“Set the place on fire? Collapse the tunnel?” His speech was as unwavering as his gaze. “Do you know what it is to burn to death? Or to asphyxiate? Is that not your greatest fear?”

Dorian was at a loss- the scene overwhelmed him and Evallan's convicted words hit him as hard as the blows from that Emissary. Faltering, all he could say was the pathetic truth;

“Damn you, Evallan...I just don't want you to risk hurting yourself.” He pointed to the wall of carnage, hand tremulous. “I know it's horrible to say...but have mercy on _yourself_ \- _they're_ already dead!”

Which of course, forced Evallan to strike him down with his own pathetic truth;

“ _I will not have you raise your hands for this!”_ His shouts bounced through the cavern, becoming many in its echo. _“Leave.”_

Too dumbstruck by too much for argument, Dorian slunk from the chamber and up the route they'd ventured through. After a moment the ethereal crash of something-like-glass filled the entombed passages, the draft at his back lowering greatly in temperature.

_Even when it's destructive..._

_I suppose that's a merciful enough way to go._

_You probably wouldn't feel much, would you?_

He sat at the mouth of the passage and thought of Evallan.

A few minutes passed and his concern pressed on him- but finally the elf appeared. Dorian had a guess as to what kept him; encased in a thin sheet of ice, it flaked noisily as he walked, fell off him like powder with all his shuddering, limbs stiff as they crunched against the cold.

Dorian concluded with no amusement that Evallan had been stuck.

Rushing for him, he immediately made to smother the elf's frame in his arms.

“I- am fi...fine.” Evallan bit out ungratefully- but had not the muscle coordination to stop him. Arms encircling, he bundled the stubborn fool against his chest.

“No you're not. Shut up.” He reprimanded in a hush, hiding his face in the other man's shoulder so he wouldn't witness how terrified Dorian was sure he looked. Holding tight, he channelled magic into himself to heighten his temperature, hoping to melt the frost promptly. Evallan was rigid at first- both because of his predicament _and_ out of distaste for the assistance, Dorian knew. Still he held until the elf relaxed, breathing steadily against his neck.

“Thank you...” Evallan said very quietly, disentangling himself, eyes low. He was still freezing and trembling but the ice had mostly dissipated- it was clear that was all the help he'd accept. Fighting his anxieties, Dorian nodded towards the exit.

“Let's collapse this blighted place and report in, then.”

Returning to the mouth of the passage, Dorian drew Lance's rune while grumbling.

“I'd collapse this whole void-damned cellar if it wouldn't bring the fort down on us.”

_Then again, I suppose you'd have to collapse all of Thedas to truly be rid of these vermin._

_They're always down there- aren't they? The rest of us forget..._

_Only the Wardens and the dwarves remember._

Evallan said nothing- merely stood, blank-faced, trembling. Suppressing his concern, Dorian willed the rune to crush the tunnel and hastened for the stairs, drawing close to Evallan's side. He wanted to wrap an arm around him- give him his cloak- _something_ \- but knew there was no chance of the elf relinquishing his guard in the current environment.

They found Marcus and his men in the yard, the Darkspawn threat neutralised around them. All covered in blood; Turnblade and Dale joking some distance away, Bauer and Marcus in conversation and the lyrium-addled Templar standing like a statue.

Dorian hurried to meet them and noticed with a sickening lurch that Evallan didn't- he still moved with great difficulty, not bothering to match Dorian's pace. Thinking to save him the trouble, he reported to Marcus.

“We dealt with the Emissary- and blocked the tunnel it came from.”

Marcus spat to one side and rubbed a swollen jaw- something had managed a good shot on him.

“Tunnel, huh? All the way out fucking _here_?” He jeered to Evallan, seeing the elf nearby. “Fuck me, Lavellan! Maybe it _wasn't_ your fault!”

Mute, Evallan joined their group, almost leaning into Dorian's side, shuddering fitfully and making eye contact with no one.

Marcus studied him briefly, blinked, snarled;

“The fuck's wrong with you?”

“I am cold.” Evallan stated lamely, eyes downcast.

“The fuck do you mean you're fucking cold?”

“ _What is there to misunderstand?!”_ His wearied eyes shot towards Marcus with renewed vigour. _“I am tired! I am cold!”_

The Templar didn't rise to the provocation- merely stared at Evallan as if he'd grown an extra head. When he spoke it was with the air of a man left completely vexed.

“Alright. Well get back to fucking camp then, you big baby.”

Evallan stormed for the long-destroyed gate of the fort, Dorian staring worriedly at his back until Marcus muttered, his tone suspicious;

“Pavus- keep an eye on him...All the time I've served with that bastard, I've never known him to get fucking cold.”

Equally concerned by this- though probably for different reason- Dorian gave a firm nod and hastened for Evallan's side.

\--

The journey to camp was tense and awkward. It began with Evallan's horse bucking from his reach- perturbed by the lack of personal bubble and the cold that replaced it, his steed failed to recognise him initially. He spent a few minutes cooing in Dalish and petting it's mane and that finally calmed the beast.

However though the bloody horse seemed to have adjusted to Evallan's circumstance, Dorian had not. It was unbearable to witness him twitch and shake and grow ever colder as his mount careened through harsh Ferelden winds. He'd seriously considered offering his cloak but was sure the Keeper would feel insulted.

Any assistance Dorian had managed from that brief offer of warmth before their departure was undone by their arrival to camp. Tying their horses, Evallan sat by the dregs of their fire, seizing, numb hands struggling with wood and flint. Dorian could only stand to watch this up until the point Evallan failed to light kindling on the third try, chin slouching against his chest as he cursed in frustration. Rushing to his side, he removed the flint from the Keeper's grasp.

“Here- just let me.”

He expected denial and was somehow further terrified when Evallan dropped his hands and nodded, curling up beneath his cloak. Tossing the flint aside, Dorian lit the fire with magical embers and shifted close to the elf. Since he was more subdued, he risked removing his cloak and draping it over those unsteady shoulders.

“Thank you.” Evallan muttered into his knees, unmoving.

_Maker, he really looks so miserable..._

Unable to withstand it- he reached out, pulling the stupid shivering bundle into his chest, offering any heat he had and more as his temperature heightened. Evallan didn't resist, leaning against him with a tremulous sigh.

“You're...really not used to being cold, are you?”

“No.” The elf mumbled into his robes, paused, then. “Thank you.”

“You already thanked me- you don't need to thank me.” He gripped tighter to the bundled form, somehow annoyed.

Gradually Evallan began to feel more like a living being and Dorian thought it a suitable time to discuss what had tormented him for hours.

“Evallan....have you considered what might happen, if Lightbringer's cast continues to exceed your own?”

“I imagine I will turn to ice.” He said promptly- and with no emotion. Dorian felt his digits curl into fabric, firming his hold on Evallan.

“Then maybe...” Dorian floundered with the words. “You should regard this as something of a limit? Perhaps you shouldn't extend her will more than you have?”

“If it is a necessity,” The Keeper muttered, almost sounding lazy. “I will do as I must.”

They were quiet for some time- but not for a lack of things to say. Dorian meditated on Evallan's words and his response with utmost care.

“...It sounds like you're intending to throw your life away.”

A small sound like a cough- but he knew it was a laugh.

“Throw it away? No. But if the threat is great enough, I will give my life.”

“You mean the Archdemon.” Dorian didn't have to think twice about that- what else could he mean?

“Exactly.”

Silence encapsulated them once more. Dorian ailed over his thoughts but couldn't say how long he sat embracing the man for dear life, before speaking again.

“...Evallan?”

“Yes, Dorian?” There was a hint of sarcasm there- he dismissed it.

“You...don't intend to see the end of the Blight, do you?”

“I will see the end of it,” He said decisively. “The day after? Who can say.”

Having prepared for that answer, Dorian inquired further.

“And you don't think that's a bit of a waste..?”

“Fulfilling my purpose is no waste.” Evallan practically scoffed. Perhaps he would have- if he weren't rendered so inappropriately vulnerable, therefore not in a position to have any sort of attitude.

“And you're not afraid? Not even a little?”

“Of what...?” His tone was mystified.

“Well...I don't really fancy the idea of you turning into a statue.” Dorian laughed wryly.

“I would be returning to what I am,” Evallan's face angled to blink at him. “Why be afraid of that?”

He struggled to meet that stern gaze, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth.

“Except you're not ice, Evallan.”

The Keeper studied him, expression unreadable. When the silence broke again, he hesitated with his words.

“It was...how my mother died- did you know that?”

Horror filled Dorian and all he could do was shake his head.

“You look startled,” A dry laugh escaped him. “But you must understand...she did not only do that to save me. She did that to show me- to teach me. My life is something to be given.”

Dorian inspected those serious features at length, absorbed that faraway sadness in Evallan's gaze, brought to the forefront by their conversation.

“So..” He choked and had to stop to clear his throat. “There's...nothing about it you fear, truly?”

Evallan inspected Dorian just as carefully, seeming to mull over how much he was willing to share. However Dorian supposed after that fact about his mother, most things paled in comparison.

“There is one thing...” Eyes shifted to behold the flames of the campfire. “I imagine the Chantry will wish to preserve my body, for research...Even if my clan fought against this, they could easily argue to have ownership over my remains.”

He observed the firelight play along the death-whiteness of the elf's face, cogs in Dorian's brain already turning.

“If they were to do such, my soul would be trapped- and within a blighted vessel.” Evallan heaved an enormous sigh, as if just the thought exasperated him.

“I suppose if I fear anything, it is that.”

Dorian was in the midst of wondering how much influence an obnoxious magister's son could extend over such a squabble while Evallan rambled on.

“I would like my ashes to be spread over the same port my family burned. I would like to return to them- in whatever small way...”

Turning to look at Dorian, whatever he saw in his face caused Evallan to chuckle.

“Of course...now that I have told you this, you will ensure the Chantry do no such thing.”

Blinking at him, he flushed- feeling oddly embarrassed.

“Are you...asking me?”

“I do not need to ask you,” Evallan said with complete certainty, slouching back into Dorian's chest. “You will do this regardless of what I say.”

_Well, you're right about that._

_If all I can do for you is send you home..._

_Of course I would. You know I would._

Dorian buried his face into the elf's shoulder, trying in earnest to bury his emotions and expression along with it. He couldn't say how long they sat that way but when he lifted his head, night had fallen and Evallan was limp, on his way to falling asleep.

“Evallan...” He coaxed, patting the man's hair as he made to stand. “Come, you can't sleep out here tonight- not as you are...”

Mumbling something lethargic and unintelligible, Evallan submitted to this logic and allowed Dorian to lead him to the tent. He had not the stamina to argue and Dorian was glad for that- able to cajole him into a mass of blankets and back into his arms with only a gentle tug.

Entwined together in this protective warmth, it would have been peaceful- satisfying, even- but Dorian's mind still tread dark paths.

“...Are you awake?”

Evallan grunted into his shoulder. Taking that as a yes, Dorian ranted, struggling to make his thoughts coherent;

“I've been...pondering things. And I _think_...I want to apologise- for some of the things I've said to you.”

“It is fine,” Evallan muttered against his skin. “I know you do not mean them.”

“Yes, exactly, I- well, wait...” Dorian scrunched his face at the man's concealed features. “I did mean _some_ of them- I still mean them _now!”_

“Oh?” He exhaled, seeming both unconvinced and disinterested.

“...You don't believe me?” He straightened, forcing Evallan's head to roll away from his shoulder, frowning at his blank expression. “You _really_ don't believe me?! I _meant_ it, Evallan! When I said we could have a duty to each other- when I said I can't stand to see you miserable...Those weren't just things I said to sound clever!”

“Yes, they were,” He dismissed flatly. “You do not truly understand what you say.”

Indignation flared within him and he wrestled it away with a somewhat hysterical giggle.

“ _Ah, Andraste have mercy!”_ He beseeched no one, pressing fingertips to his eyes. “You see what you do to me, Evallan?! I really was just trying to say...that I admire you, and I think I understand you. But you know what?”

Dropping his hand, he confronted the Keeper's dispassionate mask, carefully motionless as it regarded Dorian.

“I may understand you...but I _still_ don't agree with you. I _still_ think we could have a duty to each other- and I _still_ think you're a childish coward! So...there...”

Deflating, he really didn't know what to think of how Evallan looked at him- the elf smiled and yet nothing about him was cheerful.

“And I still do not believe you mean that.”

This admittance sliced through Dorian as efficiently as Lightbringer. Outrage, confusion and pain warred inside. All he could do was laugh, ignoring the ache beneath his ribs.

“You're fortunate you look so pathetic right now,” He spluttered, tearful. “Or I'd throw you into the bloody lake!”

Yet he must have been the one truly seeming pathetic- Evallan's arms were around him before he finished speaking, a hand guiding him by the neck to hide in the elf's shoulder. Hissing back a sob and clutching him desperately, he yielded to the comfort of their blanket pile.

“I hate you.” He ground out, obscuring himself between the Keeper and their bedding. “I hate you. I just want you to know that.”

Saying nothing, Evallan firmed his grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title no relation to A Wolf Among Us, I just love my dramatic titles.
> 
> And you probably can't tell but shit is about to hit the fan. :)


	14. Untamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 6.5) An unexpected incident with the Templars leads to a dire situation.

Staring into space, Evallan held the foolish Tevinter, feigning ignorance as to his distraught emotional state.

_Do you not find it ludicrous?_

_To_ feel _so much- to_ want _so much?_

_What do we even know of each other- truly?_

The few words he'd dared speak reduced the man to tears- Evallan was hardly going to voice more. Instead he embraced Dorian and stroked his hair, offering what subtle assurance he could, dumbstruck as he was. Gradually exhaustion won out against distress and the man slept, buried against him as if he were part of their bedding.

Equally drained- if not more so- but Evallan could not rest. Part of him wished he were still cold- the alien, jittery numbness would at least distract from the trickle of thought.

He thought of Titus- that damned rune of Compassion, the promise it carried. Of Villyen- eyes alight from the orange hues of the Deep Roads, scrutinising him almost indignantly. His mother burning across a pyre- far from anywhere they called home.

Dorian Pavus comforting him upon his return- all those years ago.

Waiting for Evallan after his Harrowing to stand guard the entire night.

Crafting that imitative blade- obviously meaning to flatter him.

Protecting him during their expedition.

Relinquishing his amulet- displaying no anger.

Displaying only- what he always seemed to strive for- kindness, patience.

 _What is_ wrong _with you, Dorian Pavus?!_

It vexed Evallan more than anything in his life ever had. He'd always assumed the man was bored- why wouldn't he be, locked in a tower for a decade? Yet he was so upset- both over the possibility of Evallan's fate and the dismissal of his sincerity.

Again he recalled Titus, bright-eyed while handing over the rune of Compassion.

_You Tevinter mages..._

_...you are all so sentimental!_

_So quick to make oaths and swear allegiances-_

_none of you know what you say!_

Though he had to admit- he was glad Fila had been raised in such company. It comforted him to know she never had need to close her heart to others.

_But what does my life matter if it ends the Blight?!_

_Five minutes on my feet._

_Five minute on my feet against the Archdemon._

_Give me only that._

_It would all be over then._

_Dorian...you could go_ home.

He slipped in and out of awareness, clinging to the man and repeating- as if it were a mantra.

_Five minutes on my feet_

_against that wretched thing._

_I need only that._

Morning finally graced them and Evallan knew if the man awoke still in this position, he'd face the same issue as the previous night.

_I cannot be alone with you._

Evallan had told him as much- though not in words Dorian comprehended. Even in his ignorance, the Tevinter managed an infuriating response.

_What had he said?_

_'I think I approve of that'?_

_The fool._

Cheeks flaring, he slid carefully from underneath the man- Dorian stirred briefly, perhaps reached for an absent warmth. Not waiting to observe such things, he slipped out into the cool light.

Evallan hoped it was still too early for the others but noticed Marcus lingering outside the inn, taking enormous bites from a bread-chunk. Ignoring him, he sat by the campfire and busied himself with it.

“Lavellan,” Marcus garbled out. “The fuck happened yesterday?”

Eyes focused on his task, hands moved automatically, vocals doing the same;

“I believe we felled an Emissary in the Korcari Wilds.”

“Don't be fucking cute, Lavellan.” Marcus countered sternly and Evallan heard boots disrupt the grass. Soon a shadow leaned over him and the twigs he worked with.

“You were cold. Since when has that _ever_ happened?”

The hint of accusation wasn't lost on Evallan- he swept it away while snapping wood into kindling.

“My aura did not hold. You have seen this before.”

“Not like that,” Marcus spat. “You get warmer- a fever. You've never been fucking cold. _Never.”_

Something in the Templar's voice agitated him- enough to glare over his shoulder, seeking confirmation. Indeed the man's scarred features and always-displeased scowl revealed something close to personable.

“ _It is none of your concern.”_ Though subdued, each syllable was laced with venom.

Seeming to realise he'd given something away with his expression, the lines of it hardened before Evallan's eyes until it was nothing but sharp.

“Considering we could all fucking die if you lose control for even a second? I'd say that's my blighting concern.”

Blind rage propelled through his chest like bile and all Evallan could respond with was-

“ _Eat shit and die, Marcus.”_

The barrel-chest looming over him seethed but Marcus only touched his forehead, chuckling wryly.

“Listen...you fucking _idiot-brat,_ ” He began very slowly, voice feigning sweetness as though his words weren't so bitter. “There's something _wrong_ with you. The Circle can fucking _help._ If that _thing_ is turning on you- there's no blighting reason we can't take it out!”

A crackle of incredulous laughter escaped Evallan- a sound so foreign to the commander that he stilled in a moment of shock.

“ _Have you gone mad!?”_ Evallan asked amidst sour amusement. “And then what good would I be to you- stripped of most of my ability!?”

“Maybe you won't be able to freeze over a fucking mountain!” Marcus recovered quickly, biting back. “But your experience on the field? The techniques you've fucking perfected? We lose you to _this_ thing- _we lose all that too!”_

Upright in a flash, Evallan jabbed the man in the chest, snarling;

“ _You_ would not lose _anything,_ _Templar.”_

Marcus deflated, glowering as he shook his head.

“You're a _shitting moron,_ Lavellan. We'll be picking your pieces off the _void-damned ground_ before we get to the _blighting Archdemon.”_

The Templar saved him from responding by stomping to the inn. Evallan watched his retreat and inhaled steadily.

 _I barely allow_ his _concern._

 _What made you think I would suffer_ yours _?!_

He was still looking towards the inn and shaking off the surreal discomfort when Marcus reappeared, Augustus in tow. Evallan blinked after them, observing as they horsed in single-minded fashion.

“Where are you going?” Not that it especially troubled him- but he disliked being left with the others and no command.

“Quick reconnaissance on Lothering- promised we'd check in.” The Templar grumbled, yanking the reigns of his horse, Augustus' mount rearing behind.

“Then I will wake the others-”

“I don't need a fucking freak snowstorm or a lot of bickering bullshit right now,” He growled, trotting away. “It's a fucking formality! Just sit tight and don't fucking kill each other.”

“You should not leave us without a command!” Evallan shouted after him, fists clenched.

“I said _sit fucking tight and don't fucking kill each other!”_ Marcus howled, vanishing along the curve of the path.

Further discomforted, Evallan crumpled by the fireside with a scoff. There was nothing for it but to commence with his morning as he'd planned- first reconstructing the fire, then stealing away to the inn for whatever could pose as breakfast. Everyone still rested so he took to practising stances with Lightbringer- he had to heighten his temperature. His aura hadn't corrected itself and in the past, he'd been able to encourage it by warming first through mundane action.

Gradually the morning became bright, the lake shimmering and the campfire extinguished. What Dorian comically referred to as his _'personal bubble'_ enveloped him once more and he felt at ease, leaning upon the dilapidated fence.

A bent figure staggered from the tent with a yawn, arms extending above messy hair.

“Good morning.” He addressed the Tevinter lightly- missing his presence, Evallan had to confess. The man issued something muffled and unintelligible as he stretched, tripping towards him. He believed it was _'Good morning, Evallan'_.

“ _Ugh!”_ Dorian exclaimed while slumping against him. “It gets so bloody hot in the tent!”

Evallan had to suppress his mirth, lips twitching as he patted the Tevinter's damp hair.

“Is that why you are so sweaty?”

“Why do you think I'm here?” The man laughed, shoving his nose into Evallan's collar to punctuate the statement. _“Natural insulation!_ Always the perfect temperature.”

Snorting at the excuse, he sought to correct the entanglement resting on his shoulder, careful as he smoothed out dark strands.

“As much as I like the open air, after a few hours of rolling around in the dirt all I can think about is a bloody bath.” Dorian groaned in exaggerated dismay, his limp form and general manner implicating to Evallan he liked the attention. He permitted it, joking dryly as he petted.

“You are so _delicate,_ Dorian Pavus.”

“ _Oh, shut up!”_ He guffawed bashfully though remained where he was, allowing himself to be fussed over. After a moment of peaceful silence, he asked;

“I thought I heard you and Marcus shouting?” He yawned the words into Evallan's skin- distracting.

“Mhm.”

“And I suppose it's not anything you want to discuss?”

“Hrm...? There is no need.”

“Of course not,” Dorian adjusted to stand and regard Lightbringer. “I thought I saw Lightbringer's glow being waved about, too...were you practising?”

Evallan nodded.

Clicking his tongue, Dorian tapped his chin as he spoke.

“You know...I'm getting a little jealous. With all this fighting Darkspawn I'm hardly being afforded any time.”

“I can afford you time now, if you like,” He offered, smirking. “Marcus is gone, and we have no direction until his return.”

Grinning, Dorian tilted his head towards the inn.

“I'll just grab some breakfast, then.” He sauntered off with a bounce to his step, leaving Evallan to feel privately shamed at how eager the man was to be in his company. He tried not to dwell, instead unleashing Lightbringer and pacing, collecting himself. Dorian returned shortly, blade drawn and still grinning.

“Are you sure you're not tired out?” The Tevinter said with a hint of tease, raising his blade.

“For you?” He joked, tone flat. “I think I will manage.”

Accepting that invitation, Dorian sprang towards him, blade swinging. He deflected easily- and noted the restrained momentum compared to previous matches.

“I'm almost offended.” Dorian jested again, earning a perked brow from Evallan as he observed.

“ _You_ are offended? _I_ am not the one holding back.”

The other mage sighed, shoulders slouching.

“Alright, you caught me out...I asked without thinking, and now I'm wondering if it's such a brilliant idea...”

Scowling in genuine offence, Evallan barrelled forth and struck the Tevinter's blade with the same profuse ferocity he'd directed upon the Emissary's shield. He did not stop until the man cried out in a mix of alarm and amusement, tossing weapon aside and flailing hands in surrender.

“ _Alright- alright!”_ His cackles became relieved as Evallan withdrew _“I get the point!_ You don't need me to worry!”

“ _No,”_ He ground out, angrier than intended. _“I do not!_ Attack me again- _properly!”_

The motion was repeated- this time to his satisfaction. Still he batted away the assault- but it was no meagre effort as the first had been. Soon they fell into their usual rhythm and Evallan was pleased to witness Dorian's improvement since the first lesson. Evallan was forced onto the defensive more often- to the point he dropped Lightbringer on one occasion, hissing as seared fingers relaxed from the hilt.

“ _Kaffas!”_ Dorian immediately abandoned his blade, moving towards him. “I didn't mean to hit your hand so bloody dead on!”

Indeed when practising with enchanted weapons, a portion of skill involves knowing how to avoid direct injury on your opponent- blunted swords are not an accurate replacement, after all. Predictably this could result in such accidents as one learns to adjust their force between a real enemy and a feigned one.

Still- he hadn't expected to be hit dead on, either.

Fighting a prideful smile, he flashed his eyes onto Dorian's approach with an expression he hoped was reassuring, mild as it was.

“You are quicker.” He complimented, allowing Dorian to fold his hands over the abrasion.

“I didn't expect I'd be _that_ much quicker.” Letting off a shy laugh, he encased the graze in healing magic.

“You will have to account for it- do not look so concerned,” Evallan smirked, pulling his hand away once the burn settled. “I have suffered and inflicted much worse in training.”

“Alright, well...if you're certain.” Not mirroring that certainty but trusting it, Dorian scooped up his sword and drifted into position.

Evallan shook the last traces of fire from his digits and charged again.

For a while they continued undisturbed and without incident. It was only when he heard footfalls near the inn that it occurred how late in the morning it had become.

He stilled to behold the intruder and Dorian mimicked him. It was the youngest Templar who found himself curiously studied by the two mages- one emanating cold and the other beaming in that lax way of his. The knight blinked at the pair, holding a flask of water in one hand and a cloth-wrap of food in the other.

“Uhmm...” He flustered, fidgeted with the wrap. “I was just going to sit.... _quietly_...could I watch?”

Though he narrowed his eyes upon the Templar in distaste, he sensed Dorian grinning at him. Evallan slumped in defeat, gesturing vaguely.

“Fine. Do as you wish.”

As he hastened to seat in an orderly and subdued way, cautiously unwinding the food-roll, Evallan reflected it was no surprise Dorian tolerated this company. The young man was not unlike Titus- and could be only a few years older than the Tevinter boy, if that.

Dismissing the interruption, he propelled himself into another lunge and their audience was soon forgotten.

The next time they were interrupted it was near midday and the red-head's voice boomed from the inn, stomping boots proceeding after.

“We seriously going to sit around all fucking day?!” Though he sounded more astounded than enraged, cracking elbows over his head with a grunt.

“What a waste.” His smaller friend piped up, slinking out from behind.

Disregarding them, Evallan focused on his assault against Dorian and was glad to see the Tevinter did the same- not having to offer one of his pointed looks. Conversation bounced over the clash of magical blades, irritating Evallan but not distracting him.

“I think the commander just wants us to get back to the tower,” The youngest offered passively. “And then back to Tevinter.”

“I don't fault that,” Grumbled the red-head. “But we could be doing something more useful than sitting the fuck around...”

“Well, if we do that,” Supplied the third. “We could get ourselves caught up in something else...can't get caught up in much anything at the local fish-spot.”

The older pair snorted, the younger chortled somewhat tensely.

Evallan knew three sets of eyes trailed after their movements. He ignored them, centred on the strike of Lightbringer into Dorian's blade. As sparks flourished, one of the men jeered;

“You won't train with any of _us_ but you'll train with _that_ amateur?”

He saw Dorian bristle, a scoff leaving him. Squinting at him meaningfully, the Tevinter restrained his tongue, allowing Evallan to counter;

“I would not waste my time with someone who could not learn.”

“And how much has _he_ learned?” The red-head further critiqued. “You've been training him what? Maybe a couple of months? _We've_ all been at it fucking _years_.”

“And what?” Evallan snapped, straightening from his combat stance. “Time does not always equal skill.”

Dorian righted also, smirking at the three as if sharing a private joke.

“Maybe not always- but some 'Vint runt that learned by dancing around with a rusty hilt?” The large man chortled. “I could take him _easy._ ”

“Not much of an accomplishment, if you ask me.” His friend said alongside him, considering the swordsman-mage with little reverence.

Their focus of discussion opened his mouth to speak and both Evallan and the youthful Templar floundered;

“We shouldn't mess around-”

“I would not insult him by-”

“-the commander probably wouldn't-”

“-asking him to compete against-”

“-appreciate us getting all beat up.”

“-fool Templars as yourselves.”

A beat of strained silence and the red-head gathering for a retort- but it was Dorian's voice that sang over them.

“I'm up for it, if he is,” Punctuated by an airy laugh. “Though you must not value your dignity awful much. Have you actually _watched_ the Keeper fight? _You_ can hardly compare.”

_Idiot._

It was his singular thought as he looked across at Dorian, trying to communicate the sentiment in his gaze. He merely beamed at Evallan, carefree- almost taunting.

“See? _He_ doesn't think it's an insult.” The Templar cajoled, bounding off the inn steps for their direction.

Faltering, he trudged over to Dorian and muttered, though it came out in spluttered Dalish;

“ _This is foolish. You could provoke him.”_

A few steps away, he heard scraps of the young knight attempting a similar discussion with the red-head.

Meanwhile, Dorian studied him with a flippant smile and Evallan reflected it was as tragically stupid as it was attractive.

“Maybe _you're_ the one who shouldn't worry so much.” The Tevinter mocked warmly, agonising him.

“Do you seek to prove a point?!” He hissed- this time in Ferelden. “This is an idiotic way to do so!”

“ _'Prove a point'?_! Whatever would I do _that_ for?” Dorian guffawed melodramatically, sweeping passed him. “So are you ready, or has our Bauer managed to talk sense into you?”

Panic seized Evallan, so intense he could not think- could not move, a mind absent of idea or instinct.

_You fool._

_You idiot fool._

_Do you not see how this could go?!_

He'd tested the Templar Order's pride once- was he truly so enthused to repeat the act? _For what?!_

_Because I said I do not believe him._

Truth stuck in Evallan's voiceless throat as he observed Dorian and the Templar briefly interact, not registering what they said.

_I take it back._

_I take it back!_

_You do not have to prove anything to me._

Words refused to form on his tongue, paralysed. He could only spectate, mind striving to regain control over a vessel rooted by fear. Glancing around, he suspected the young Templar was the only other person with sense to be ill at ease. His features were stricken by anxiety, eyes darting between the mage and knight while they exchanged quips.

No doubt he wrestled with the same dilemma as Evallan- the foolish pair could be stopped by force alone, which would likely escalate the situation.

The two men motioned to stand across from each other, Dorian twirling his blade in a show of careless bravado, grinning brightly. Across from him the Templar tightened gauntlets and readied his sword, his mockeries not reaching Evallan's ears. Dorian wasn't a small man and weeks of combat had toughened him somewhat but in comparison, the Templar was still a behemoth.

Not that it meant anything in a fair fight- the Tevinter's performance with the Ogre proved that enough. However- would the knight fight fairly?

All he could do was stand like an ice sculpture and plead with his eyes, though Dorian refused to look.

“L-Lavellan?” The boyish knight jabbered next to him.

“I know,” He growled in response. “I told that fool not to leave us without command.”

Cursing Marcus endlessly, he witnessed in horror as swords collided, not settling even as Dorian struck his opponent's weapon aside and pranced around, effortless. Though not utilising his illusionary skills, the sword-wielding mage lived to confound. To first witness this preening Tevinter, so lightly geared and flailing a matchstick, it would be natural to underestimate.

Until you realised he had the reflex of a wyvern- and the hunting instinct to match.

The youth alongside him clearly had been one to underestimate- he breathed out in relief, laughing.

“I was really worried for our friend there, but uh...I don't know if Turnblade can even land a hit.”

For Evallan there was no relief- Dorian's advantage against a heavy, over-confident opponent was unquestionable. How the loss would be taken? That was a more pressing issue.

 _'Turnblade'_ as he was apparently called depleted in stamina, realising too late that lunging for the man and hoping to floor him in a single, blind hit was impossible. His motions were sluggish but Dorian was still cautious in his assault, feigning light jabs to test how swiftly they were countered.

A lazy swing from Turnblade was batted away and Dorian sprang, catching the man off-guard, aiming for his hand. The Templar lost his weapon and seemed done- until a gauntlet launched into the mage's abdomen.

“That is enough.” Evallan demanded frostily over the confrontation but it went on- Dorian stumbled back, giving the knight opportunity to wrench the sword from his grasp and throw it between them.

“I said _enough!”_ Practically shrieking, he advanced.

A plated boot smashed into the old hilt, fragmenting it, magic hissing from the dimmed blade. Dorian laughed in a mixture of bemusement and nerves, hands ascending in defeat.

“ _I said-”_

The Templar's hand slipped to his belt and procured a slender hunting knife. His intent flashed in Evallan's mind like a firework and ultimately, Turnblade was given no time to fulfil his namesake.

He meant to yell _'stop'_ but what tore from Evallan's vocals was instead a discordant mess, nonsensical even to him. What he understood was the wave of ice entrenching their surroundings, the world dyed in bright light he could perceive nothing through. Lacking sight, his comprehension based itself upon the life-force and intent of those around him- one thing was clear.

Shouting again, he approached the threat- unmoving, it seemed, yet still holding the knife.

Rattling off something foul, Evallan hoped the message was clear but the weapon only moved when a crunch resounded through the clearing, along with a squeal of pain. Then Dorian giggling, near-hysterical.

“ _Oh, Kaffas.”_

Colour leaked back into his vision and Evallan found himself standing before a half-frozen Templar, arm stuck in mid-attack, appendages bent at grotesque angles. Beside him was Dorian, gaping, wide-eyed, holding the blade he'd relinquished. Turnblade would mourn his fingers too much to thank him, Evallan supposed- but if Dorian hadn't thought to remove the weapon he would have lost far more.

_I did not see he could not move._

_I only saw his intent._

Breathing steadily, he glanced over the Templar and saw at least he was not iced through- meaning, he would live if dispelled sooner rather than later. Dazed eyes swept over the clearing- saw the smaller knight similarly frozen-

The youngest sprinting for his horse.

“ _Stop!”_ Evallan cried out from impulse and roared when the boy disobeyed. _“Stop or I will_ make you _stop!”_

Like a pack of cards the knight folded, shoulders quivering as he audibly prayed.

Satisfied that nothing would interrupt as he pieced together the situation, eyes jumped from the broken hilt on the ground to Dorian. He grabbed the first, shoved it into the hands of the second while demanding-

“ _You have to go.”_

“ _Wh-what?”_ Still in shock, the Tevinter fought for speech. “I don't understan-”

“You cannot be seen here when Marcus arrives,” Evallan snapped, dragging him by the arm. _“You have to go!_ You were never here- I allowed you to return ahead.”

“ _Wait-wait-wait-!”_ Dorian struggled from his grasp, gesturing wildly. “I should stay! I can explain- _you were protecting me!”_

Growling furiously, he snatched the man's arm and commenced yanking him from the scene.

“ _And that is why you must go!”_

“I'm not leaving you here to take the blame, Evallan!” He wriggled free, glaring. “What about them?! They can say I was here!”

Inhaling deeply, Evallan rubbed his forehead to suppress the building distress.

“I will take care of it.” He stated coolly, eyes finding Dorian's. “ _You_ must go. Get on your horse and return to the tower- _now.”_

This wasn't received how he would have preferred- the Tevinter cackled manically, tilting in bitter amusement before declaring;

“ _Fuck you, Evallan!_ I'll do no such thing!”

Infuriated and terrified, he had no words to describe the sounds of frustration bursting from him. Grabbing the man by the shoulder, he shook him as if to dislodge some sense into his fool mind.

“ _You said we could have a duty to each other- is that not so?!”_

Dorian attempted to wrestle from him, snarling back-

“What does that have to do with-”

He shook him again, barking each syllable with cruel urgency-

“ _You meant it?! Truly!?”_

Motionless in his hand, the Tevinter glowered.

“Of course I meant it.”

“Then...” Exhaling, he shoved Dorian towards the horses. “To fulfil that duty now- you must leave!”

Another crazed laugh as the man spun to protest-

“ _That's a low blow, Evallan!”_

“ _I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU THINK IT IS!”_ He screamed unthinkingly- though truthfully. _“Get on your horse and leave!”_

Dorian hesitated, glanced from Evallan to his mount. Eventually his features scrunched in resolve, grumbling;

“Fine...fine, I will...” Making for the horses, he spat back. “But I'm fetching Irving the moment I arrive!”

Sighing, the strain finally left him.

“Do what you feel you must.”

A disappointed glare was thrown his direction as the Tevinter finally galloped away- Evallan was unbothered.

_Hate me if it pleases you._

_You will not be blamed for this._

Surroundings finally ebbed into awareness and he knew the young Templar still shook on the ground nearby. Taking meditative breaths, he strode into the centre of the snowy chaos. It took a while to collect his thoughts but gradually, he began to speak;

“I lost my temper and attacked you during a match, that is what has occurred,” He paused, willing strength from himself. “I sent Dorian Pavus ahead to the tower- he was never here.”

Though only one of them could speak, the quiet somehow managed to be reluctant.

“You are wondering why you should afford me this courtesy- other than the fact I could remove your tongues.” He said casually, wandering to lean on the broken fence, thinking for a moment.

“It was quite humiliating to be bested by him, no?” Head tilting, he glanced between the two knights he mainly addressed. “Imagine the extent of that humiliation when you have to explain all this transpired because of a childish game you were playing.”

Hands open alongside him, he spoke almost charitably;

“Blaming me is easier for all of us- say what you like. I am an Abomination, I attacked you without reason. A realistic excuse is not difficult to find, no?”

Allowing that to simmer, he added with an air of finality.

“But Dorian Pavus was not here.”

Whether this subdued them or not, he had no choice but to dispel the icy bonds. It was fortunate the cast had not exceeded what Dorian referred to as his _'personal bubble_ ', if not it would be more challenging than an idle wave of his hand.

Both knights crumpled, shivering and cursing his name but not denying the agreement. Knowing very well the youth would be led by their choices, he ordered him next.

“Fetch Marcus. Tell him there was an altercation.”

Startled eyes beheld him vacantly at first but soon the young knight gathered his wits and stumbled for his horse. Hooves rapped against the ground until they distanced, leaving Evallan with the injured men. He regarded empty space, having no need or desire to speak more.

“Dale...come help me with this fucking fire.” Turnblade ordered, clutching his mutilated limb. His companion lurched, both trembling. Evallan observed dispassionately as they built a fire and quivered over it, not thinking much of the scene.

Instead he wondered over Dorian and that Templar boy- would they lie as instructed? If they did not...it would complicate matters and benefit no one.

“ _My fucking hand...”_ He heard Turnblade grumble in pain. “You could _at least_ come here and fucking heal us? Considering we're all lying for _your_ blighted girlfriend.”

“You lie for yourself.” Evallan responded coldly, not looking at the man. “Your salary and position are as much at stake as his life.”

There was an indignant grunt from the human but he said no more.

Hours limped by and Evallan meditated upon many things, isolating himself in thought.

He wondered how the Chantry would respond- how Marcus especially would respond.

He mulled over the wording of all the treaties he'd memorised, reassuring himself his clan would not be faulted for this event.

At some point he considered fleeing and reflected if it were not for his clan, he would do so without hesitation.

_And I would take him with me._

The thunderous trample of Marcus' steed roared through the clearing and Evallan straightened his posture, confronting the billow of dust that enveloped the commander. In a second the man was off his horse and marching for them, face reddened and fists balled. Some ways behind, the younger Templar rushed to follow.

“ _What the fuck is this?! What the fuck happened?!”_ Outrage boomed over all of them but it was Evallan his piercing eyes sought.

“ _Went fucking wild! Broke my blighting hand!”_ Turnblade interjected.

“ _SHUT UP!”_ Marcus advanced towards Evallan, features contorted. “I want to hear it from _him!”_

Armoured fingers stabbed into his shoulder and he exhaled softly, muttering;

“It is exactly as it seems.”

Marcus appeared to sway, as if the admittance on its own were enough to floor him. He breathed with a steadiness that was somehow threatening, hands lifting to obscure his face, air snorting through gauntlets like a bound animal.

Turnblade and his friend were speaking over each other but neither Marcus nor Evallan heard.

A fist swung for his head and initially he made the choice not to defend himself.

High-pitched echoes sang through his mind at the impact, baffling the senses. Wavering, he bent to a kneel, using the fence as support. Hardly able to see, he was defenceless when the second collision rammed into his skull, knocking him into the grass.

At that point Evallan understood if he did not defend himself, the Templar would beat him to death. He was probably under the mistaken impression that Lightbringer's regenerative abilities could outmatch the pace of his blows.

However- Evallan also understood that to utilise magic or aggression in his defence would simply worsen things. He was reduced to curling into a ball. The assault was continuous- now stamping mainly into forearms and hands. Skin broke, blood stuck to robes- he couldn't hazard if from his skull or arms, iron and adrenaline polluted his mouth.

_He will kill me._

He concluded dizzyingly between hits.

_The idiot-shem will break my neck and not even notice._

Evallan willed himself to make swift peace with that fate.

“ _Commander!- Commander, stop!”_ The young Templar's howls agitated his sore head. _“Do you mean to kill him?!”_

“ _As if I fucking could!”_ Marcus howled back, kicking Evallan's side. _“Demon-possessed-son-of-a-bitch would just stand back fucking up!”_

Still, this interruption snapped Marcus back to his wits. Evallan heard the heavy scrunch of boots pacing the grass but didn't dare raise eyes or unfurl from his protective coil. Then they moved for him and a red-stained gauntlet wrenched his cloak.

“ _On your fucking horse, Lavellan!”_ Clumsily finding balance, he allowed himself to be dragged. _“We're dealing with this bullshit right fucking now!”_

He was unhanded near his mount and stood shakily, blinking down at crimson that leaked from wounds he couldn't guess the origins of.

Somehow he still wore his circlet- perhaps only because it had bent inwards, which accounted for some of the moisture, trickling from where the band split his flesh.

Had he lost a tooth?

“ _Unger-with me!”_ Marcus continued to dictate, grabbing his own horse. _“Bauer!-_ take care of these two- all of you head to Lothering!”

“Y-yes, Ser.”

Evallan clambered onto his horse and struggled with the reigns, unable to see through the ache in his skull and the wetness pooling before his eyes. Strength would return but for now, he hadn't enough to wipe off the blood.

\--

They travelled the King's Road for hours before Marcus fractured the tense quiet;

“Are you going to tell me what the _fuck_ happened?”

“You saw what happened.” Evallan murmured, recovered just enough for speech. “You heard your men.”

The Templar glared over his horse at the horizon- at the silhouette of the Ferelden Tower, dark and ominous against a descending sun. To Evallan's sight, there were several. It was fortunate all his horse had to accomplish was following another.

“And where in all the _nug-shit piles in Thedas_ was fairy!?”

“He was bored of waiting,” Evallan said with sullen confidence. “I sent him ahead.”

“You sent him ahead?” He squinted across at him. “Why don't I believe that?”

“Ask your men.”

“Don't think I fucking won't.”

Marcus rumbled further and urged the beast he perched upon harder, allowing silence to confine them. When he next spoke, they were traversing the final stretch for the tower.

“Let me tell you something, Lavellan...I think I've figured out what you are.” He huffed, gauntlets squeaking as they clenched. “ And I think I know what I have to do.”

“What would that be?” Evallan inquired, his tone both weak and exasperated.

“What I _said_ I'd fucking do,” Marcus spat, eyes pinned to the horizon. “You won't thank me for it...but I'm going to fucking _help_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👁️👄👁️
> 
> Also I accidentally made it so Augustus is the only Templar whose name Lavellan just Knew but I decided to keep it in because the idea is kind of funny. You can excuse it with him being the only one he's served with as long as Marcus, idk lol.
> 
> Switching between the two POVs between chapters with a bunch of side-characters whose names one side bothers to remember and the other side doesn't. definitely threw me off oops.


	15. Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 7.0) Marcus tries to “help”. Dorian tries to stop him.

_Idiot-idiot-idiot-idiot-idiot!_

This repetition had made a home within him since departing camp- hours down the King's Road and Dorian still didn't know who it was directed to. Himself, for his careless actions? Or Evallan for sending him away- and the audacity in which he'd done so?

_He knew what to say._

_That bloody fool knew exactly what to say to me!_

The return-journey for the tower seemed to go by in a flash- even with almost losing his direction. Time was consumed by frantic raving, stopping as little as possible, only the darkening sky indicated to Dorian how swiftly it passed. To his sense, it was as if he'd blinked and the old stone bridge materialised before him, welcoming his horse to charge while he hollered.

“ _THE GATE! OPEN THE BLOODY GATE!”_

Whoever was burdened with that duty reacted soon enough for Dorian to avoid ramming into it, sparing not a moment in pouncing from his steed. He simply left the poor, baffled creature to the stable-hand and sprinted for the tower.

“ _Pavus! What's going on?!”_ Someone yelled from the walls- likely a Templar on gate-duty. Paying no mind, Dorian ran up the yard stairs and threw open the great wooden doors.

“ _Dorian!”_ This time it was Fila but he couldn't spare breath for her either- shoving passed some mages queued for dinner, he clambered up the winding staircase.

“ _Dorian- wait! What's happening?!”_ Her voice was shrill now, light feet easily stalking his. With her as his shadow, he ran until the final ascent brought him to Irving's office. Fists slammed upon the door, as unrestrained as his volume.

“ _FIRST ENCHANTER! IRVING!”_ There was no response and the barrage of knuckles became violent- he'd knock the door off its hinges if he had to!

“ _He's not here!”_ Fila said breathlessly, gasping alongside him. “Dorian- what's-”

“Where is he?!” Whirling around, he spied the terror in her huge eyes and forced himself to compose. Hissing, the heels of his hands shoved into his forehead and he tried to recall how that stupid Dalish song went.

“I don't know! Some emergency at Redcliffe! He said they'll be back late if they can!”

Exclaiming unintelligibly, Dorian marched for the stairwell and almost knocked into Titus- gulping and slouched on the bannister.

“You two...” He wheezed. “...are really fast.”

“I-I'm sorry, Titus,” Falling over his words, Dorian sidled by him. “I love you but I don't have time!”

Still not quite understanding the depth of his surrogate brother's panic, Titus laughed incredulously.

“You _what!?”_

“It's not funny, Titus!” Fila scolded, hot on Dorian's heels. “There's something really wrong!”

All he could do now was wait- either for Irving and the Knight Commander, or Marcus and Evallan. There _was_ the possibility Marcus wouldn't be sent over the edge- not a possibility Dorian would stake coin on. A sense of incredible unease gathered in his chest. Of impending, unavoidable disaster.

Both Titus and Fila badgered him all the way to the yard but he couldn't process their questions until he was outside. Viewing the grounds- still devoid of an enraged Marcus- he opened his mind to the constant inquiries.

“ _Dorian, please!”_ She grabbed his arm, clearly afraid he'd storm off again. “What's happening?! Where's my brother?!”

“Is the Keeper okay!?” Titus joined the chorus. “Why are you alone?!”

“There was...an incident,” Words tumbled, unsure how to phrase anything. “And if I can't find someone to stop Marcus...I don't know what he'll do.”

“What do you mean _'an incident?!'”_ Fila cried out, jostling him.

“With your brother.” He stated flatly, staring over her head at the gate. “I...can't explain more.”

He would explain to Irving- and only to Irving.

Then that shameless elf could make no claim of Dorian betraying his word.

Fila's grip loosed, the three speechless for some time. All the while, Dorian watched the gate.

“What...do we do?” Titus squeaked- Dorian had some thoughts on that.

“We wait for Irving or Greagoir...” He conveyed in a distant voice, attention never diverting from where he expected Marcus to approach. “If Marcus arrives first, I need you to follow us- to see where he takes the Keeper. Then you return here, and you wait. Hopefully someone will arrive before anything escalates...”

Another pause from the trio, then Fila piping up;

“What are you going to do...?”

“I'll protect him,” Dorian answered without hesitation. “However I have to do it.”

“You shouldn't go alone!” Titus protested- of course he would.

“Don't get in the way, Titus!” His gaze diverted to the youth, eyes narrowed. “If something happens to either of you...Maker, _please_ , just take care of each other! Leave this to me.”

A bottom lip protruded and Dorian knew he wished to argue- but Fila slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Titus relented with a stubborn frown, probably realising the truth of Dorian's statement- they had to protect each other.

It was Dorian who was sworn to Evallan.

There was no knowing when Marcus would arrive. While the rest of the tower dined and prepared for evening, they stood vigil at the tower entrance. New anxieties sprouted the longer they waited- what if Marcus had executed him on impulse, or taken him elsewhere? For all Dorian knew, he could be transporting the elf straight to Aeonar- or some other mage prison. Then it would become a matter of discovering the location and somehow freeing him- politically, or through other means.

_I'll make apostates out of all of us if I have to._

Fortunately it would never come to that.

Brutish shouts erupted from the other side of the gate, chains creaking in response, giving room for several horses to rush through. Firming his stance, Dorian scanned each rider as they hastily dismounted; Marcus, Augustus- and Evallan.

Crimson in rage and moving with purpose, Marcus left his horse and issued an order to his man, then barked at Evallan.

Dorian's heart plummeted from chest to stomach and nested there. The Keeper was in a sorry state; robes unkempt, hair matted, circlet cracked and the whole pitiful image encrusted in blood. Still he walked with spine rigid and eyes cool, attempting to force dignity where there could be none- especially with Marcus pushing him onward.

Squaring up his shoulders on their approach, Dorian tore into the commander with his eyes, prompting him once they were in earshot-

“ _What have you done to him, you madman!?_ ”

“Out of my fucking way, fairy!” Marcus demanded, Evallan glaring at Dorian alongside him- _ungrateful bloody!_ -

“The First Enchanter isn't here!”

“ _I don't need the blighted First Enchanter!”_ The Templar barged through, yanking his charge along by the collar. He was delayed by Titus- springing forth with a growl.

“You don't have the Maker-damned right-!”

True that may be- Marcus hardly cared and his lyrium-addled recruit had no ability to. Responding to some earlier instruction, Augustus smacked the youth aside and this finally provoked the subdued Keeper, Dalish insults exploding from him. Dorian comprehended just enough to conclude Evallan had more or less accused Marcus of bullying a child.

At the same moment the elf was rearing up into the commander's face, challenging him. This was met by a brash headbutt, so forceful it propelled Evallan inside.

Conflicted on who to aid first, Dorian glanced at Titus to ensure he was unharmed and not about to interfere- safely held by Fila. So he bounded after Marcus- the Templar dragging the disoriented mage onto his feet, Augustus latching to the opposite arm when Evallan swayed.

They led their captive through stairwells and Dorian followed, battling on whether to speak or to wait for opportunity- what sort of opportunity, he hadn't decided. He was also conscious of Fila and Titus skulking after some distance away- but made a point to attract no attention.

Marcus' goal became clear. Dorian saw fit to inform him as they traversed a familiar hall;

“I _told you_ the First Enchanter isn't here!”

“And I told _you,_ ” Marcus spat, boot smashing into the office door. “I'm not looking for the fucking First Enchanter.”

“That's funny,” Dorian chortled, somewhat crazed. _“Because that's his door you're kicking in!”_

Unresponsive, the commander kicked until the wood flew off its hinges- then threw Evallan like more debris, so that he stumbled into a kneel before the writing desk. Both Templars marched in after and Marcus made a bee-line for the corner- where a chest sat.

While the elf fought to stand, Dorian barked from the doorway and Marcus assaulted the container.

“ _What are you even doing?!”_

Glancing at him, the Templar first spied Evallan and snarled.

“ _Stay down, Lavellan.”_

The Keeper's chest rose and fell in silent annoyance, but he obeyed.

“As for you...” Narrowing eyes on Dorian, he said simply. “I'm doing _my fucking job.”_

Turning away, gauntlets and boots continued their onslaught, not halting until the chests lid split open and fell aside. Only then did it occur to Dorian what was often stored within- and what Marcus had to be seeking.

Tongue heavy and mouth dry- he knew he had to speak-

“Wait...wait a moment...” But struggled with what to say, desperation paralysing his wits.

A moment of noisy rummaging and Marcus unfurled, displaying a carved rune in each hand, both small enough to fit snugly into a man's palm.

The runes of entrapment from the Deep Roads.

“ _Wait-wait!”_ Abandoning sense, Dorian practically leapt into the room. _“It wasn't his fault!”_

Squinting with obvious displeasure, Marcus roared;

“ _Get that 'Vint bitch out of here!”_

Like a golem Augustus lurched into motion, aiming to grab Dorian by the neck- then haul him out, most like. Ducking beneath his arm, he skirted by the stonily-silent Evallan and continued pleading-

“ _You have to listen! He was protecting me!”_

A plated hand clasped his bicep- the lyrium-addled Templar herding him away. However Marcus was paying attention now- scrutinising Dorian with renewed and cruel intrigue.

“You know what? Bring him over.” Augustus instantly did so while Marcus snorted. “Want to be involved so bad? Stay and see what your protection costs.”

Not struggling as he was pulled along, Dorian looked from Evallan's static expression to the vile relics. The Templar did the same, displaying something close to pity in his gaze.

“Don't like the look of them, do you?” He lifted the runes, their dark engravings seeming to absorb all light. “And sure, you're not going to trust me...but have you ever thought something like this could _help you?”_

The elf said nothing, looked at nothing. If it weren't for the occasional blink one would think him dead- especially with how blood caked him from head to foot.

“ _Aren't you tired of living like this?!”_ Marcus boomed in agitation. “Not doing your own thinking?! Not being your own person?! Being afraid you'll kill someone when you sneeze?!”

Miles away from them, Evallan apparently had no input.

Slouching briefly in defeat, the commander's focus angled to Dorian.

“Fairy...since you want to be involved so bad, why don't you come here and charge these?”

Why even bother asking? Few things in existence could entice Dorian to assist in such a despicable act. He communicated this by sharpening his gaze on Marcus, pouring all the hatred he could into his eyes. Seething, Marcus slammed the runes onto the table and skirted it, drawing his blade.

Stopping beside Evallan, his sword hovered over the base of an ear while a mad glower targeted Dorian. The elf sat motionless, unflinching.

“Either you come here and charge these,” Marcus breathed out, grinning wildly. “...or I start cutting off unnecessary pieces. What do you think it'll take for him to make a sound?- I'm a little curious, you know!”

Few things in existence- undoubtedly, that was one. Yet it took a painfully long moment to will movement from his limbs, struggling against cold horror. Somehow he mustered the nerve, inching for the table where the relics waited patiently.

As mundane objects they were nothing but haggard stone inscribed with dark lines. However to anyone sensitive- a mage, for instance- the corruption they emanated was palpable, sickeningly much. Despair was bound to the etchings like a living entity, leering at him while he leered back.

With Marcus armed and towering over Evallan- there was no chance of escape. Dorian risked a glance at the Keeper but his face remained a mask, uttering not a syllable.

Hand spasmodic in tension, he forced digits to sweep over the items, infusing them with magic.

_With my own will, no less._

More than disturbed by this, Dorian spectated dumbly as Marcus snatched them back up.

“Great job, fairy!” He scoffed, turning the objects over in his hands. “Now look what I'm going to do with your little gift.”

Facing Evallan, he instructed;

“Raise your hands, Lavellan.”

A shudder raced through Dorian's spine, his chest ached. He realised he'd stopped breathing. Below them Evallan was immobile, giving no indication of hearing a command. Predictably this incensed Marcus, cackling as he wrestled to re-draw his weapon while handling the runes.

“ _I don't think you're hearing me!”_ He raved, blade slicing air clumsily. _“Or you're_ both _fucking_ stupid!”

The point of his sword wavered towards Dorian. He blinked at it, barely processing.

“ _Either you raise your hands or I cut his off and make him Tranquil!_ I bet that'd make you _really_ cooperative, _really_ quick, wouldn't it?!”

Trembling, blood-stained hands appeared from under the table, at complete odds with the stoicism fixed to Evallan's visage.

“Good.”

Exhaling, Marcus released and the carvings landed into the elf's palms. There was a mild jerk, a sizzle of skin- but he composed momentarily, seeming to want to escape through the wall with how he glared.

Dissatisfied, the Templar scratched his chin while ordering;

“Close them.”

Hesitation- perhaps Evallan had relied on limiting contact. There was no choice now.

Digits wrapped over curved stone and the shift in demeanour was immediate. He bucked forward, almost hitting the table, then hunched within himself, runes grasped tightly above his head as if in offering.

“ _Is that not enough?”_ Dorian ground out, his voice far away.

Glancing from one mage to the other, Marcus sneered. Towering above Evallan, his hands sealed over the elf's, pressing them into the foul etchings like a vice. A strangled noise fled the Keeper's chest, reverberating painfully against Dorian's skull.

“ _The rune is set!”_ His pleas were ignored. That vicious grip refused to yield and by now stoicism had crumbled; Evallan shuffled in place, head low, face obscured by dark knots, flesh popping so intensely Dorian smelled charcoal.

 _And for the love of Andraste-_ he was singing, ever-so-quietly. The runes bound his will, making it a useless effort- an enchantment reduced to mortal verse. Still- out of some hopeless instinct- he sang.

Dorian couldn't bear it anymore.

“ _Mad dog, you'll burn his hands off!”_

Elbowing Augustus, he propelled himself into Marcus and the wretched stones flew aside. In the chaos of limbs, Dorian slung an arm around Evallan. Stumbling back with elf in tow, he knew he needed a weapon- but his own had been irreparably damaged by Turnblade.

There was only one thing within reach -

_Lightbringer._

Out of some hopeless instinct, he unleashed the hilt from Evallan's belt. Another impulse willed his arm outwards- a single word lashing from his tongue. To the Templars it would sound like gibberish- perhaps even to some Dalish.

Between he and Lightbringer- he hoped _the intent was perfectly clear._

_'Faith.'_

_'It_ does _look how we write 'Valour', kind of.'_

Light gushed from the hilt, shocked faces illuminated by a scathing glow. None more shocked than Dorian! Still he didn't hesitate- he tripped with the half-conscious Evallan into a corner, aiming Lightbringer's point at men too stunned to advance. His spine met a bookcase and he flopped unceremoniously onto his ass, living cargo falling with him- but Lightbringer still shone, angled at Marcus.

The Templar scrutinised him with a mix of indignation and bewilderment, rough features contorting strangely as he merely stood and struggled with his face. Beside him, his golem-knight displayed far less emotion but even something in his dull eyes appeared taken aback.

Dorian inhaled deeply, shaking all over from distress and adrenaline. Yet he held to the magical blade like a drowning man to a rope, his other arm secure around Evallan- barely conscious, but battling for speech. He stirred, muttering something incoherent, and Dorian tightened his grasp.

“Shh, I have you.” He cooed protectively, face close to Evallan's. “I have you. You're safe.”

There was no reply but Dorian didn't expect one- he'd be out for a while, at the very least.

“I watched all night while the mages tried to summon that blade.” Marcus finally animated, almost offended in his tone.

“ _Did they try asking politely?!”_ Dorian quipped, eyes slivering upon the knight's worn countenance. Truthfully he didn't know _why_ the Spirit answered his summon- as far as he knew, such a thing shouldn't be possible. Perhaps she really _did_ sense his intent? Regardless...he was hardly about to look a gift halla in the mouth!

“Well, fairy...” The commander huffed like a bull- still unmoving, however. “What are you going to do with it?”

Examining the shimmering weapon as he meditated, Dorian concluded it was no good to fight. Just because Lightbringer was able to manifest at his beckon, didn't mean she was undamaged by the bind on her wielder. No, he couldn't risk injuring the Spirit further. She'd responded knowing he meant to defend her host- so that was all he'd do.

In any case, he expected he didn't need to go on the offensive to dissuade Marcus.

“Nothing,” He stated confidently, lowering the blade. “I'm going to remain exactly where I am until someone sane steps through that door. I'd wager you not only have no idea how to dispel Lightbringer- you're also too afraid of provoking her to try. One wrong move and we could all turn to statues, no?”

Though he knew it wasn't as simple as that- Evallan himself was the conductor of Lightbringer's will, the blade a mere extension. Marcus however, was so blind in his suspicion and fear towards Lightbringer that Dorian suspected he couldn't distinguish between the two. Confirming this, Marcus leaned back, muttering pensively.

Relieved but not feeling quite secure just yet, Dorian held the sword before him, blade facing the ground, and hoped his intent was once again clear. Lightbringer's barrier projected from the hilt and when he released it hovered there, locked to the shield. Putting it down to another stroke of luck he settled, breathing hard and clutching Evallan to his chest.

Marcus loomed for some time, features screwed up in irritation. Then he paced. Then he collapsed into the First Enchanter's chair with a grunt. All the while Augustus simply stood, at ease and empty-eyed.

Overwhelmed by the mayhem, Dorian gasped for calm. Shifting the elf into a more comfortable-seeming position, he tried to brush tangles of hair from face and circlet. Blood encrusted the band, which had punctured flesh, so Dorian took time carefully freeing, then hooking it onto the chain he knew Evallan wore beneath his robes.

Occasionally he found himself jabbering as he fussed;

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I shouldn't have listened to you, damn it all.”

He attempted to clean some of the blood but most was dried and sticky- he didn't exactly have a bucket of water on hand.

“Next time...I'm not going to listen to you.” He practically wept, teeth grit as focus changed to the elf's burnt hands. They were grisly to behold, flesh so warped the indents were lost in the swelling. At first he held them and poured healing magic into the wounds but they persisted. Switching tactics, he enveloped them in a cold spell to soothe the inflammation, if nothing else.

“I won't...let this happen again- I promise.” Swallowing breaths, he whirled on Marcus, shouting. _“What were you even trying to do, you animal?!”_

The Templar had been observing them glumly- not that Dorian had noticed until now- and not that he cared. Scowling at the man, he hoped the depth of his loathing was absorbed. Staring at him with equal spite, Marcus ground out;

“Do you know what that is, fairy? Do you know how it works?”

“ _Probably better than you!”_

“Then you know...” Marcus sneered, continuing. “An Entrapment creates a pocket in the Fade. Nothing can get in, the mage can't get out- and they can't use their will.”

“It's also an ancient form of blood magic! The only way to make the thing is to sacrifice a life- sometimes several!- _Not to mention it often drove people mad!”_

Marcus waved this off, grumbling;

“We found them- why not use them? Besides...we only need him bound until that _thing_ starves.”

“ _Thing?!”_ Dorian blustered, incredulous. “You're trying to sever his connection to Lightbringer?! _You mad moron- you can't know what that would do to him!”_

“ _BETTER TO TAKE THE RISK THAN DO NOTHING!”_

“ _WE'LL SEE IF THE CHANTRY AGREES WITH THAT!”_

Both halted, swallowed air, leered.

“And you...” Marcus began, grinding teeth. “Where were _YOU?!”_

Caught off guard, Dorian blinked.

“Where was I..?”

“I told you...” He stood and marched for them, knocking books from the table. _“TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM!_ It was the _ONE THING_ I _NEEDED_ you to do, _PAVUS!”_

The volume of his speech was so tremendous the walls quaked. Yet at the end, while Dorian sat in dumbstruck silence, Marcus seemed to shrink, spluttering at the ground.

“When you came in here...you said he was protecting you...so what was it?” Eyes ascending, they burrowed into Dorian. “Did he lose it...or was he protecting you?”

Struggling with too many considerations and possibilities, he hid his face against Evallan's knotted hair, grumbling;

“I'll explain to the First Enchanter. I won't explain to you.”

“Then maybe...” Marcus growled, stomping back to his chair. “Don't ask me anymore stupid-fuck questions!”

He fell into his seat and their uneasy stand-off in the middle of the First Enchanter's office commenced. After a while of huddling in the corner Dorian grew concerned- perhaps he was imagining it, but he swore Lightbringer's glow had dulled.

_I'll fix this._

_I promise- you're_ both _going to be fine._

Clinging to Evallan, he hoped the elf would wake soon but there was no sign of it- his pulse was normal, that much comforted him.

Soon it darkened enough that Marcus lit candles throughout the room, before dropping back to his perch like an armoured gargoyle.

No one spoke and Dorian fought to stay awake.

A hurried clash of Templar boots- for once a blessed sound. Certainly he'd never been so delighted to witness Greagoir's haggard features stride through the door, boxed in by plate and shouting;

“ _What is the meaning of this?!”_ Outrage flooded his words and with one of his own men at either side, he was quite intimidating.

“ _KNIGHT COMMANDER!”_ Dorian spurned into action before anyone could yell over him. _“Look at the runes on the floor, Knight Commander! Is ancient blood magic now a tool of the Chantry?!”_

Pausing, Greagoir tracked his gesture, jaw clenching at what he observed.

“No.” He stated grimly, eyes searching for Marcus. “It is not.”

Standing, Marcus countered;

“Lavellan almost killed my men- one of them may be crippled.”

“ _He was provoked!-”_

“ _According to who?!”_ Marcus flailed between the two. “The elf's an Abomination! _It's about time we contained it!”_

“ _The only abomination here is YOU!”_

Greagoir's chest rumbled beneath their exchange, fists clashing together. His men looked on in bewilderment, sometimes glancing at one another.

“ _SILENCE! YOU!”_ The Knight Commander stabbed a finger at Marcus. _“To the barracks until I know what to do with you!”_

At first the berated Templar was statuesque, emanating fury in how his dangerous gaze sliced from one person to the next, lingering on Dorian. He narrowed his eyes in response, reflexively squeezing the man he resolved to protect. For his part, Greagoir made no additional command, merely stared Marcus down, as authoritative as a great bear.

Yielding with an indignant, incomprehensible string of curses, Marcus stormed from the room. Plate screeched and clanged down the hall while those still present waited in tense silence. The last echoes of departure faded and Greagoir finally saw fit to properly regard the duo, curled beneath Lightbringer's veil.

“...And you...” He huffed wearily, closing eyes from the sight in brief meditation. “You will yield, and hand Lightbringer to me. You will both be escorted to your rooms and sealed there until Irving arrives- _he_ will sort out this mess.”

Dorian almost wanted to laugh- _or cry!_ \- for all this carnage and disaster, all Greagoir could think to do was send them to their bloody rooms like common miscreants. Fine- if that was how it was going to be!

_But you're not going to separate us!_

_Not until I know he's safe._

Talking through a dry mouth, he dictated carefully;

“You can seal _us_ wherever you like- and I'll be happy to yield Lightbringer once _we're_ safely isolated.”

Considering him for a long moment, Greagoir nodded towards his men and backed from the shield, freeing space for Dorian. Yet there was something in the exchange of looks he disliked- these were after all, the Knight Commander's personal guard, familiar enough with each other to communicate in glances.

Unfortunately- as had been typical so far- there was no choice. Lightbringer had to be weakening and at this point, everything Dorian attempted was mitigating damage. Swearing to himself, he wrenched the hilt from its projection, leaving the barrier to dissolve as he struggled with Evallan's dead weight.

_He's still breathing._

_He's still breathing._

He reminded himself, trying not to stumble. Limbs were numb from exhaustion and his head pounded. Despite having grown accustomed to lugging Evallan around, he had to submit to the assistance of one of Greagoir's men. At least the expression he offered Dorian was sympathetic enough- he doubted anyone here wished further harm on the elf.

_Still..._

_I won't risk anything!_

_Irving is the only one who might settle this._

Their odd party lurched down the hall and Dorian found himself needing to speak- for the sake of sanity.

“It's late...but you arrived- so where's the First Enchanter?”

“Some issue with the Redcliffe nobility,” Greagoir's voice was tense, thoughts understandably elsewhere. “However, the First Enchanter had a sense that one of us should return. Luckily for you, his instincts are rarely off the mark.”

They staggered before Evallan's room and Greagoir gestured towards it.

“Unluckily for you, I am the better rider. And I alone have not the authority nor idea of what to do with any of you.”

Having gathered as much, Dorian said nothing. Sidling through the door, he and the Templar laid Evallan out on his bed. All the while he strived to be attentive- fearful they would catch him unawares somehow. Straightening, he braced himself, clutching to Lightbringer as he turned.

Too drained for swift reaction- a gauntlet slammed into the side of his skull. His grip on Lightbringer loosening, he hastened for his feet but was walloped again. Floored this time, his last recollection was of being hauled upwards and carried.

  
\--  
  


Scratched paves swirled into view, chill stone prickling against his cheek. For a terrifying instant Dorian suspected he was in an isolated cell but when he threw himself back, it was an ordinary bedroom. Though not _his_ bedroom- apparently they'd tossed him into the nearest unclaimed chamber, rather than risk him waking on a longer journey. Remembering his headache, Dorian slumped against the nearby bed-frame, eyes squeezed shut.

Unable to think, he waited until the throb subsided before viewing his surroundings. Mostly unfurnished and he doubted there was anything useful tucked in a drawer. This was an unoccupied room, probably the closest to Evallan's, a layer of dust over everything undisturbed by the Templars.

Shuffling to his feet, without delay he slumped into the door. Of course it wouldn't unlock- he rapped knuckles into the wood furiously, roaring;

“ _Let me out, damn you!”_

“Take it easy, Pavus,” Came the prompt answer. “Lavellan is fine- and Irving will be here soon.”

Cackling hysterically, he couldn't allow himself to believe that claim- sincere as it sounded. He'd already taken one fatal risk- listening to the damn stupid elf. No one else would be so obliged! Turmoil and anger rioted inside him, fists smacking the door like a drunk barbarian.

“ _I said let me out, you overpaid guardsman! EVALLAN! Damn it- EITHER YOU LET ME OUT OR I TURN THIS ROOM INTO AN INFERNO!”_

“ _You do that!”_ A different voice- still undoubtedly a Templar. _“And we let you suffocate before we put it out!”_

Screaming in complete, vexed rage, Dorian crumpled and braced his forearms against his head.

_It's all I can do, isn't it?_

_Sit here and drive myself mad!_

_As if I haven't done that enough for you?!_

_Even before- all those years-_

_I knew you were out there._

_Just some stupid boy like me._

_Carrying the whole blighted world!_

Wasn't it always the source of his friends teases? How he always _'defended the Dalish'?_ They were blind not to realise.

_I was blind._

_I always made it about..._

_Fila, or your clan- or my bleeding heart._

_But it was always you._

Withdrawing into himself, Dorian sobbed against his arms and wondered if the stress was driving him mad. Naturally, this looped his fears back to Evallan and the unknown state he'd been left in. Such an ancient and unstudied enchantment- maybe _he'd_ already lost his bloody mind. The last conscious act Evallan managed was to sing- something that from their interactions, Dorian knew he found humiliating.

_Why did I listen to you?!_

Recalling the moment- and many other moments- he reflected that it was difficult _not_ to listen to the Keeper. Always so confident and stern- about everything- even his lies. Wielding any cruel thing as a weapon or hiding behind any poor excuse as a shield, somehow enforcing his will even when all good sense beckoned you do otherwise.

_I won't fall for it again._

_You won't dismiss me so easily!_

For now all he could do was sit in the dark and list his mistakes.

_My mistake- is listening to anything you say!_

_I think if you were honest about anything -_

_You would break right then!_

He laughed bitterly, knowing that the wealth of his anger was misdirected. The elf was a fool- but as far as Dorian was concerned, Marcus had orchestrated this chaos.

_You should have let me stay._

_I could have protected you._

_We could have just run._

That made Dorian laugh too- he knew the Keeper would never run. As long as he submitted to the Chantry, the security of his people was guaranteed. Dorian couldn't even fault him that- in some way, wasn't that why none of them ran? Where would they run- even if targeted as an Abomination? Everything any of the refugees knew- their whole world was contained here.

He lost consciousness blearily reimagining that nightmare from isolation- the Entrapment Circle on the ground, a pulse of magic, a voice saying-

_'For you, ma vhenan, the world.'_

_If only it were that simple, no?_

  
\--  
  


Rattling armour jostled him awake- a creaking door. Fumbling backwards so he wouldn't be walked over, a person like a crooked tree bent over him, sighing tiredly. Dorian sighed also- in relief- finally, the First Enchanter. He leapt to stand but was so exhausted, it was more of a hop. Supporting himself with the wall, he ranted anyway.

“Whatever Marcus is saying- or his men- or Lavellan- they're all liars!- Lavellan perhaps most of all!”

Waving him further inside, Irving hobbled across the room and sat upon the bed, rubbing his forehead.

“I am quite familiar with Lavellan's penchant for deceit, yes.”

Confounded, Dorian flopped onto the ground near Irving's feet like a bloody child.

“Then you know...that if he makes a point to say I _wasn't_ there- that means I _certainly_ was.” He knit his brow, determined. “So when I tell you that _oaf_ \- Turnblade- meant to cut my throat and make it look like an accident, and Lavellan _protected_ me- you should know _I'm_ the one telling the truth!”

Letting off a haggard breath, Irving massaged his head a while longer before speaking.

“And what do you think that truth will cost you?”

Furrowing his brow deeper- Dorian had to admit he failed to comprehend. Perhaps it was obvious- both Evallan and Irving acted as though it were. All Dorian had been able to set his sights upon was lessening consequences for the elf. Noticing the confusion in his stare, Irving lectured;

“ _You_ are the man who tutored him during his Harrowing- a Harrowing that some consider a failure- already suspicious enough, since your own was so neat. Then, wherever he has caused disruption- _you_ are at its centre. A Magister's son inexplicably tied to each of his blunders. And his latest blunder- an act of magical violence, something he has never once committed...”

Mind buzzing, Dorian reared forward with a growl.

“So they'll say I enthralled him- or some rubbish?! Is that what you're implying?!”

Deflating but not erring from his gaze, Irving stated simply;

“Some already say as much.”

Recoiling into his lame posture, Dorian blinked at the First Enchanter, dumbstruck.

“But... _you know_ I haven't...?”

“Of course.” Irving wheezed out and Dorian settled, drawing in air.

“And that is why...” The old man continued sombrely. “I cannot discourage Lavellan from his course of action. The Chantry will show him some level of mercy, regardless of circumstance. You, on the other hand...are a convenient scapegoat- a foreigner from Tevinter, who has rejected all ties to his house- and recently punished for dissent...In any circumstance, the mercy they would show you is none.”

Faltering, Dorian stared at his knees, utterly lost.

“But...but that's not right.” He fumbled, already knowing it didn't matter how _'right'_ it was. “I won't...I won't keep quiet- you can't make me.”

Irving regarded him sadly for a time then exhaled, patting his robe-pockets for something.

“You have a choice. You can share your truth, regardless of any consequence- and paint a target on yourself to the benefit of no one...” Rooting around, Irving extracted a key. “Or you can be silent, trust us to appease the Chantry- and go take care of your friend.”

Dorian snorted- wondering if all mages excelled in emotional blackmail! How could he refuse when he needed so badly to confirm the man's well-being?

“Fine, fine, I don't care.” He fell over his words, tearful while snatching the key.

“I have already seen to him, he appears stable.” Irving offered with some hint of assurance. “He will be allowed to leave his room in the morning- but has been instructed to remain on the higher levels, except for meals.”

“I'll keep an eye on him.” Dorian promised, numbly gripping. Without another word he stepped into a vacant hall, the elder mage casting a solemn look his way before trudging for his office. Slowly recognising exactly which portion of the living quarters he'd been deposited, he strode for Evallan's chamber, still feeling numb.

The lock whined and he was swift in closing the door behind him. Before he could call out or process, he heard-

“ _Dorian!”_ Somewhere between enthused and panicked. Then two arms were steadfast around him, Evallan panting unintelligibly into his neck.

“ _Evallan-”_ Startled by the rib-crushing welcome, it took a moment for him to embrace. “Are you alright..?”

Ignoring this, he dug the heels of his hands into Dorian's back as if still not holding tight enough- fingers incapable of a proper grip. It would have been endearing if he weren't so terrified for the man's sanity. Irving claimed he was stable but any semblance of that seemed to have gone out the window upon sighting Dorian.

“Evallan- relax- please. Say something coherent.” He chuckled brokenly, trying to coax Evallan's face from his shoulder. He allowed this with a huff, moist eyes blinking at him.

“Lightbringer responded to you.” He hiccuped, still clutching as firmly as possible.

“And I am very grateful she did,” Dorian guffawed- that was the least of his concerns. “I would have looked quite foolish brandishing an empty hilt!”

Shaking his head, the Keeper embedded himself again into Dorian's shoulder.

“Lightbringer is bound to one soul.” He mumbled.

“Perhaps she sensed my intent?” He guessed with a shrug. “And I did happen to be holding you at the time.”

“No.” He stated with another head-shake. “You willed it. The same as in the Fade- when you wrote the incorrect rune.”

None of this was anything that occupied Dorian currently- he had to restrain his impatience.

“I really don't know about that- but what does it matter?”

Seething, Evallan detached just enough to pin his eyes, unwavering in tone and gaze.

“It matters because you are quite miraculous to me, Dorian Pavus.”

Feeling as though splashed by a cold wave, he stared witlessly.

“I...pardon?” Dorian squeaked, wondering if the fool knew for himself what he said.

Undeterred, a hand shifted to Dorian's neck, voice firm;

“You are like no one I have ever met.”

Overwhelmed and entirely flustered- Dorian couldn't begin to imagine how moronic he appeared. This was hardly what he expected! In the shadow of the days events, all it did was baffle and overwhelm him with guilt. Besides- he couldn't know what he was saying! There was no way to account for what the Entrapment had done to him!

“Don't...don't say such things, Evallan.” He laughed nervously, looking away. “You shame me.”

Inhaling, the elf relaxed his focus, shrinking into his form..

“It should not shame you.”

For a while they held each other without speech, Evallan's chest rising and falling rapidly, Dorian inspecting him- with difficulty in their current tangle. His hands were bandaged and had been treated with some sort of ointment- most of the blood cleaned and some half-effort into fixing his hair. Near the bed Dorian spotted a basin full of pink-tinted water and some first aid items. Irving hadn't lied about ensuring he was seen to, at least.

Shuddering in his grasp, abruptly Evallan began to choke out words;

“I am sorry- I am so sorry for everything.”

No less perplexed, Dorian stroked his back, hoping to comfort.

“I...I'm not sure what you mean?”

Seizing with emotion, the crack in his voice increased with each syllable;

“Since the moment we met- I have been unkind to you-” A sob racked through him, barely managing the rest. “Next time- I promise- I will be kinder.”

He wasn't making any damned sense and Dorian's anxiety flourished, pulling enough away to grab the side of Evallan's face, studying closely. He looked aware- present- though agonised, tears staining his cheeks.

“What...are you talking about?”

Trying to collect himself, Evallan lowered his head, shoulders quivering.

“It...does not matter. It does not matter.”

Then was smothering Dorian in his embrace again, struggling to contain his cries and mostly failing. Clinging protectively, Dorian worried out-loud;

“I'm...I'm not sure you're in your right mind.”

Apparently wanting to prove otherwise, Evallan unlatched with a laborious exhale, taking a step back.

“I...I am sorry...” Eyes darted from the floor to Dorian. “But you will...stay here, yes? You will not leave me?”

A mind burnt to senseless cinders by foul magic and yet he still knew exactly what to say- how to agonise and calm simultaneously. Smiling in what Dorian imagined to be delirious fashion, he eliminated the space between them.

“Why do you think I'm here, you idiot?” Pulling the elf back into his arms, he held until they both stopped shaking.

“Let's...let's try to get some rest before we clean up.” He guided cautiously by the hand and Evallan dropped with him onto the bed. Too frazzled by adrenaline to think of unclothing or wrestling with blankets, they lay at an awkward angle, huddled together.

“Maybe then...sense will have reasserted itself- a little...”

With Evallan finally safe in his arms, it didn't take long for Dorian to lose awareness. The last sensation he registered was anxious breaths caressing his skin, unsteady fingers hooked to his robes, shameless and unrelenting.

Absence of warmth caused him to stir- the room still mostly dark and space beside him empty. Panic rushed through him but as he hastened to sit, a dull thud resounded. Attention sweeping to the door he spied Evallan, knelt and struggling with the fallen key.

“You're not tired..?” Dorian questioned lightly, moving from the bed to assist. Plucking the key from the floor, they rose together and Evallan flushed, gesturing to emphasise his wounded hands- incapable of finer motion, that went without saying.

“Thank you...” He indicated the lock with a deft point and Dorian obliged in opening the door, before lofting a brow in query.

“There is something we must take care of...” Evallan explained with a note of apprehension, fidgeting.

“Oh...?” Dazed from the constant input of each event, he was briefly clueless.

Chest extending with conviction, the Keeper answered in a single word;

“Lightbringer.”

 _Of course!_ Feeling stupid, Dorian feigned slapping himself on the head.

“That would mean entering the Fade, no?” Calculating, he stroked his chin. “And since you're bound..”

Evallan gave a sombre nod, slouching.

“It must be you.” Eyes downcast, he mumbled. “For whatever reason...she responded to you. Such a thing should not be possible, but...”

Exhaling, his gaze met Dorian's.

“If anyone might reach her...it will be you.”

The gravity of the situation was not lost on him- but he had one complaint. Surveying their ruffled and stained clothing, Dorian beseeched with a half-grin;

“Can we wash up first? If I'm going for a stroll in the Fade...I'd quite like to have a clean, warm nap afterwards.”

Snorting in genuine amusement- exhausted as the sound was- Evallan nodded for the hallway.

“It would be cruel to deny you this. We will meet back here- and then, to the Harrowing Chamber.”

That last phrase admittedly inspired chill in Dorian- the Harrowing Chamber was a place no mage should suffer twice. Though what they intended was likely not the same as a Harrowing, the prospect of revisiting the space unnerved him. Trying to conceal inhibition with a flashy smile, Dorian made for his room to procure a new set of robes.

It agonised him to part from Evallan- even for a short time- but he wasn't about to stalk him into the wash-room. The fact in his current state he may _actually permit it_ only worsened the notion. In any case, it was just late enough into the morning for them to avoid an accosting from nightly patrols, so Dorian willed himself not to fret.

Unfortunate that it was also too early for whining to servants- he berated himself into not being so spoiled while filling the tub himself. Rushing the whole process, to-and-from the water storage, it was still gloomy when he reunited with Evallan.

He had to chuckle- the elf's clothes were askew and he'd knotted dripping hair into a tail rather than bring it to order. The impression he often left of an ethereal sculpture was wholly ruined.

“...What?” Flustering, Evallan touched his face as if to clear away stuck food.

“You're all unkempt...” He teased warmly- almost forgetting this was another sign the Keeper wasn't quite right. Unable to help himself, Dorian brushed some of the errant strands from his face with a laugh, then smoothed out the mania of his robes.

“I...did not wish to waste time.” Reddening and wild-eyed, Evallan broke from him and slipped up the hall. Suppressing the awkward combination of mirth and concern, Dorian trailed after.

Together they ascended until reaching an elaborately-carved entrance, barely familiar to Dorian. A decade later and he still failed to recall his climb as a youth- yet somehow the sense of apprehension and panic was distinct. He'd had the courage then, of course- he had more now.

_Especially with you by my side._

He must have looked sentimental in how he regarded him- blushing fiercely, Evallan refused his gaze and pushed aside the foreboding doors. They entered swiftly and as the stone whined shut, Evallan inspected their surroundings.

“If someone truly wishes to enter, the chain might not hold...” He murmured, wandering about. “I must delay them somehow, but, ah...”

Dorian concluded the issue- without access to magic, the elf had no ability to ward off intruders. Agonising over how helpless he appeared, skulking about the enchantment apparatuses, Dorian hesitated on what to suggest- or if to reassure.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Evallan suddenly barged into an apparatus shoulder-first, causing stone and metal to shriek as he pushed it gradually towards the entrance.

“...Um?” Dorian uttered, for some reason feeling stupid as he watched the man heave this burden in front of the door. By the time it occurred to help, Evallan was straightening with an enormous, triumphant huff.

“There!” He announced, facing Dorian with a dizzy grin and knuckles on hips.

For some reason Dorian's face was overheating and he must have again seemed to view the elf strangely- cheeks inflamed, arms dropped to accentuate a shrill-

“ _What?!”_

Burning from perplexed embarrassment, Dorian flailed-

“ _I don't know?! You're very strong?!”_ Wilting in shame, he rambled. “I forgot how strong you are!? Andraste have mercy...I'm starting to think danger makes me affectionate.”

“ _Affectionate?!”_ Evallan barked out in genuine amusement. “Is that what the shemlen call it?!”

Days of stress had driven them to hysterics- Dorian was certain. They stood and laughed foolishly, deranged merriment bouncing along every arch of the Harrowing Chamber. Eventually, somehow, scraps of dignity were retrieved and they quietened, staggering into the centre of the room.

“Alright, so...what are we doing, exactly?” He inquired while Evallan settled on an apparatus, extracting a lyrium potion from its inside compartment.

“Technically...” He breathed out, leaning against the mechanism. “We are performing an initiation ritual. Think of it as a Harrowing- except you are not inviting a demon for a test of will. We are inviting Lightbringer to speak to you.”

Noting his attentive silence, Evallan continued;

“Traditionally, in this ritual...you inscribe a summoning circle yourself, another mage charges it with their will, and an object is offered to possess. The Harrowing Chamber provides the first two of these things-”

A pale robe-sleeve swept over them- indicating the enchantment apparatus, and the summoning circle permanently etched upon the tiles.

“We provide the offering.” Slipping a hand into his robes, he unleashed the war-torn Birthright from its mended chain, stretching it towards Dorian. Accepting lamely, he waited for Evallan to finish.

“She has a host- that is not the purpose of this ritual...All we are doing is replicating conditions- if we are successful, _you_ may be able to enter _my_ dream in the Fade. From there, you can speak to Lightbringer- and perhaps find a way to help her.”

Processing sluggishly through an overtired mind, Dorian nodded. With a sigh, he waved a hand at the summoning circle.

“Well...it doesn't provide her rune, so I'll draw that while you ready the lyrium, yes?”

Settling on their tasks, Dorian performed his with amulet gripped oddly in one hand- he thought of wearing it but the weight and texture felt alien. It was almost burdensome- for whatever reason, he preferred to think of it around Evallan's neck.

With the proper rune seared into the circles middle, Dorian sat before it and lay his Birthright atop. Evallan was also prepared, looming over the apparatus with lips in a grim line. Their eyes met and he sighed, speaking steadily;

“Listen to me...I have no knowledge of this done before. I risk it only because she answered you once- my only hope to save her...is to trust that she will answer again.”

Despising the seriousness of his tone, Dorian fought it with a broad grin.

“I understand, Evallan. Let's not have any dramatic speeches-”

“ _Shut up!”_ The elf snapped, eyes suddenly watering. “I...I am sorry- but listen, please...I must ask you to promise that while you are there, you will not act without my instruction...simply gather information, and then return. From there, we can decide how to proceed _safely-_ for _both_ of you.”

“...If I don't promise,” Dorian considered, still grinning. “You'll have to send me anyway, won't you?”

The Keeper's frame seemed to crumple, angling over the apparatus in resignation.

“I have no choice.”

“Well, then!” He said in what he hoped was a bolstering voice. “I suppose you'll actually have to trust me for once!”

Praying to himself in anguished Dalish, Evallan tipped the lyrium potion into the mechanism.

“Just...be careful, please...”

Dorian beamed through the luminous glow that began flickering around him, hoping his confidence would reassure. Compared to a Harrowing, wandering around someone's empty dream to converse with a benevolent spirit didn't seem so bad. Though he related to Evallan's alarm- if their roles were reversed, he would be similarly conflicted. Not to mention whatever influence the Entrapment had over the man's psyche.

Dismissing those thoughts, Dorian honed in on his task. Light smothered his sight and he smiled at Evallan's worrisome features until they were swallowed by radiance.

A sensation of endless falling overtook his limbs, as if tripping outside himself.

Outside himself was the void, bottomless and serene. The transition was jarring- like being plunged into a waterfall that somehow, impossibly, descended into night sky.

Floating with no sense of up or down, Dorian wondered how to find anything in this smothering tapestry. It wove around him as he scanned for anything inconsistent- a stray thread in the dark.

On his third rotation he caught it- the slightest change in pattern.

Muffled by abyss, glimmering faintly -

\- a single point of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me rn: https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/561/446/27d.jpg
> 
> Hope the slightly-shorter-than-usual Dorian POV doesn't disappoint. I thought of shamelessly padding in 1500 words but it just felt like it would ruin the pace. People don't really have time to stand around philosophising atm pfft.
> 
> Fun fact; while planning this chapter Dorian was always meant to wreck the room he'd been thrown into but when I actually got to writing it he just sat on the floor and cried. :'D
> 
> Some casual stuff-  
> I doodled a thing based on Current Events. (tw for blood/bruises/violence)  
> https://ofgoodmen.tumblr.com/post/635239972677533696/all-you-have-is-your-fire-and-the-place-you-need 
> 
> And if you're someone who likes to re-read things, the ideal reading of the last two chapters is with “Arsonist's Lullaby” by Hozier and “Devil's Backbone” by The Civil Wars on repeat. :)
> 
> Ok that's it I hope you're having fun. <3


	16. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 7.5) “An incredibly unlikely series of events had to coincidence perfectly to allow this interference.”

A murky haze, the world dissipating.

All Evallan understood was fire.

Then a light slicing through the shadows- someone grasping for him.

Blearily- a recognisable shape, pulsing like a beacon-

_Lightbringer._

Failing to comprehend, fingers twitched in pain and impulse.

_My hands are empty._

Yet the one clutching Lightbringer was unmistakeable to him- dark skin flecked with sparse abrasions, each one a kiss from Evallan's blade.

_Dorian._

_You willed it- how?_

Words failed him when he tried to say as much.

Evallan heard _'I have you'_ and was plunged into darkness.

  
\--  
  


Icy structures, endless writing, floating bookcases- his dream.

Disrupted to its very foundation.

Flurries of movement- like birds with wings of iron.

Shredding the landscape, tearing through dimension.

Everything he was- it would spill out into the Fade.

Trembling, panicked, Evallan searched for Lightbringer-

A determined sentinel at the edge of her dream, projecting an immense size and aura, standing firm against the tornado of death.

“ _Lightbringer!- Step away!”_

They were too much alike, he knew-

she would rather fall than yield.

Existence itself shook with the force of the impact.

Razor feathers split through the barrier, severed the bond

Evallan felt the snap in his chest and watched as light trickled from him.

It ebbed from the Spirit, from their connected dreams.  
Everything they were or could be- seeping away.

He could only observe in detached horror. With her containment punctured, Lightbringer's will floundered madly.  
In a burst of radiance she was suddenly very small. Another and she was gargantuan.

Another and her size was normal but her form wisp-like.

No matter the rendition, fatal wings chased after.

_I am sorry._

_I am so sorry._

A flash of memory- Wardens and Templars in debate, his mother saying something, the amulet around his neck.

Amrallan's frozen countenance.

Heaving his mother's corpse to a pyre, where she would burn alone.

_We were meant to protect each other._

_I am so sorry._

_I had to protect him._

_And now I have failed all of you!_

Buzzing, dangerous feathers swung for him now. Barely avoiding the full extent of the attack, he skittered upon the ground, staring tearfully as light spurted from a new wound.

_They- they cannot tell the difference._

_I am too much a part of my dream._

Meaning they would attack him until there was nothing left.

_Nothing left of me._

_Nothing left to return._

A fate worse than death- Tranquillity.

The fool Templar assumed he'd discovered a work-around.

He hadn't predicted the Entrapment would simply regard Evallan as more of the Fade.

_And there is nothing I can do- there is nothing-_

Indeed all his will, his conviction, his purpose-

it poured from him like blood. On the last drop, he would be as good as dead.

“ _BROTHER!”_ More movement- but friendly, this time. _“What is this?! What did they do to you?!”_

Without seeing he threw up his hand, yelling with shrill desperation.

“ _GET BACK! Please! It will rip you apart!”_

To even consider witnessing such a thing-

for grief to be the last emotion he would ever experience.

Focus swept upwards, meeting eyes as blue as his- as blue as Amrallan's, frantic in their concern.

“ _It will rip you apart also!!”_

He could only laugh brokenly, tears flooding his sight, fighting between cackles and sobs.

“Brother...what...what do I do?”

Amrallan would know- he was always so clever, smarter than Evallan.

A superior mage- a better son- a kinder brother.

_I was always so proud-_

_so proud that you were my brother._

During his anguished thoughts, Amrallan came to a conclusion.

“ _Your writings!-”_ He barked, pointing. “A pathway to more knowledge, remember?! All the will you have left- use it!”

Piecing together what he meant, Evallan tripped for the rows of tablets, arms out-stretched.

_Please-please-please._

Knees met snow and palms atop carved ice.

Tiny knives needled him the entire time.

He breathed in Fade.

Breathed out everything he was.

_Take me somewhere I am whole._

A numbing warmth enveloped him, cradled him.

Plunged into darkness once more.

This time, he knew he was safe.

  
\--  
  


It was as if he'd fallen asleep mid-conversation.

_I hardly remember the Blight._

It originated from within his skull- in his voice.

Something off- something strange in the cadence-

and how could he claim to forget the Blight?

_A Blight has not been seen in an age._

He meant to pull an expression at the disembodied speaker-

only to find himself also disembodied, floating through void.

Stars littered this endless night, seeming to flash with the beat of conversation.

_The Blight happened in-_

_Orlais._

_Antiva._

_Nevarra,_

_Ferelden._

All his voice- all conflicting statements- none claiming a truth he could attest to.

_I remember celebrations in the street._

Each slightly different in their tone- lighter, sterner, clumsier, firmer.

_The Blight pales in comparison to what I have witnessed._

One seemed to raise above, cackling frostily.

 _You would_ pray _for a Blight if you knew._

All of Evallan's grief and rage surged forth, casting away these bizarre lies and imaginings.

_The Blight-_

_TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!_

Swept up in his own shrieks the abyss seemed to fold in on itself- him along with it.

Upon unfolding, he still hovered in darkness.

Yet in this darkness, there was life. A benevolent warmth emitted around him and soon he realised he was amidst that swarm of stars. Only now, the language they spoke was indiscernible and when he heard his voice, it wasn't from inside himself.

“This is my purpose- as it has always been.”

Whirling around, he saw himself below. Lightbringer unsheathed, pointed for the gloom- the Spirit herself towering behind, an eternal guardian. He tried to discern more- but it all happened so quickly.

“Please...I will pay any price.”

The swarm gushed forth in a wild current and he was dragged along with it.

A glimpse of himself- eyes glowing, vallaslin bright- and

magic imprinted in swift, torturous marks- completing his vallaslin.

He only had a moment to consider the significance before existence shifted again, impossibly shrinking and expanding.

 _A pathway to knowledge-_ and this knowledge flooded his being.

Most of it was too difficult to register- in dead tongues, referencing places, people and techniques he'd never heard of. As immediately as this internal library was built, it crumbled- leaving for him one certainty.

_Lightbringer is not a name- it is a title._

_Your true name-_

_is Mythal._

Evallan found himself laying at the foot of an altar.

Sunlight filtered through bright, green leaves, ancient stone bordered him.

Symbols of Mythal decorated the walls, simple for him to identify.

Limp, disoriented and aching, he tried to process the barrage of information.

_Am I dreaming?_

_Am I dead?_

A litany of Tevinter curses filled the air, turning his head-

“ _If you don't come out of this- I swear I'll kill you!”_

Careful hands grabbing him- lifting to stare at grey eyes, shimmering gold under a spring sky. Unbelievably comforting.

_Dorian...?_

Yet what escaped him was a laugh, cupping the man's face while offering sweet assurance.

“ _Ma vhenan.”_

Chortling in nervous relief, Dorian urged him forward, planting a kiss on his mouth.

That one gesture- so resolute, so _free._

He heard _'ugh- this is hardly the time!'_ from an unknown source and was whisked away.

  
\--  
  


A shadow bumbled for him and he struck out, cleaving them with Lightbringer.

Another to his side- Evallan cut it down with ease.

By the third pathetic assault, it occurred he was fighting Darkspawn.

He made short work of them, not needing to know where he was, or why he fought.

Reducing them to a pile of armour, he inspected his surroundings- the Deep Roads.

_But they are...this is not right._

_I know this place. It was not like this._

Signs of mining activity- recently used equipment, new tunnels where there were none. The thaigs he knew- any outside of Orzammar's reach had been unusable for a decade.

A voice he didn't know interrupted his baffled meditation.

“You kill Darkspawn like you've been doing it your whole life!”

Glancing, he spotted a dwarf- Legion of the Dead Armour. That much was familiar.

“Almost half my life, at least.” He said absently.

“Half your life?” The dwarf shot him a strange look. “Thought you'd never been to the Deep Roads?”

He faltered at that, staring without words.

Equally unsure what to make of him, the man strode down the passage.

Evallan didn't follow.

Inspecting his boots, he tried to comprehend what was happening to him.

_I am dead._

_I must be dead._

_Or I have gone mad._

“Amatus?” _His_ voice- like a dinner bell for the starving.

Without seeing, Evallan knew whose hands sought to collect him.

“Come here for a moment,” Dorian cooed, straightening his collar. “Are you alright?”

Viewing his concerned expression- Evallan didn't know what to say.

_He looks different._

_Healthier- more sure of himself._

Dorian's hand lifted, pressed to his forehead before he huffed.

“You're fevered again.”

Aware that others watched- and might hear- he tucked himself into the Tevinter's form, mumbling.

“Dorian...where are we? What are we doing here?”

“You've forgotten?”

This didn't seem to worry him at first- guiding Evallan by the chin, Dorian scrutinised his features.

“How much...? We're here because of the quakes- do you remember that..?”

“No.”

“Alright...” Beginning to sound apprehensive, he pressed. “What _do_ you remember? The _last_ thing you remember?”

Rifling through memories, Evallan tried to recall when was the last time he slept and rose normally.

The last time he walked on ground without it melting beneath his steps a moment later.

_When, when, when?_

“The Ferelden Tower...” He unravelled the thread- slowly. “...Marcus Rorick...the binding runes...”

Dorian's features contorted, perplexed, tone frantic-

“Binding ru-? The Ferelden Tower?! Amatus- _what are you talking about?”_

What could he say? How could he answer?  
  
He didn't know. He had no way of knowing.

_I am dead. I must be dead._

_My mind is broken._

_You are not here._

Not liking whatever Evallan's expression conveyed, Dorian shouted passed him-

“ _Cassandra!_ We need to turn back- we need Solas!”

Boots trudged earth, the answer almost sounding impatient-

“How much has he forgotten _now?”_

The Tevinter hissed, barely suppressing panic-

“ _Everything.”_

Fingers wrapped around Evallan's. He squeezed.

“Just follow me,” Dorian said in a hush. “You'll be fine, I promise.”

It was effortless to believe him. Evallan followed.

Until the ground deteriorated beneath.

Until he hardly heard the call of his name.

No- not his name.

_He calls me 'amatus.'_

_But how am I to follow you when I cannot see?_

Indeed these episodes of darkness were quite sickening.

_'Somewhere I am whole'...that is what I asked._

He would keep moving, then.

If the request had been fulfilled, all he had to do was move forward.

Always forward.

Inevitably, he would find his place.

  
\--  
  


Glimmers of blue punctured a dark tapestry.

He clambered for the light.

Consuming his vision, at first he had no clue what he beheld.

A smooth, crystal surface, warped into a peculiar shape.

Gradually it morphed into a skeletal frame.

The bones of a dragon, sealed in an impenetrable layer of ice- perhaps frosted entirely.

“Incredible, isn't it?” A woman mused alongside him, cheerful in demeanour. “If someone hadn't told me it was done by a spell...I would have thought it a sculpture.”

An Antivan noble, from the sound of her.

Evallan honed his attention on the preserved bones.

He wondered if they were melting and extended his digits- to check for himself.

“Ah- careful, Inquisitor!” The noblewoman's hand made for his. “It is very fra-”

Yanking away instinctively, he snarled-

“ _Do not touch me!”_

Her eyes gaped then seemed to dart somewhere- seeking to communicate with someone out of his sight.

Feeling horribly exposed and misplaced, Evallan fled.

Some sort of grand hall, crowded, people celebrating.

Dining on a wealth of food they should not have.

Sitting at the entrance, singing under a sky that should not be so clear.

The Chantry sun adorned the walls- even decorated his coat.

He couldn't imagine what might have happened for him to wear the thing with pride.

Finding respite in a mostly-empty courtyard, he fought to gather his wits.

However the more he observed the more lost he felt.

_There is something wrong with my hand._

Granted- there was something wrong with his hands in the waking world, too.

Only he was quite sure neither of them were glowing there- and here, one pulsated green.

Evallan roamed the garden and tried to puzzle what the gods meant to tell him- if they meant to tell him anything.

_I have gone mad._

_That fool Templar has destroyed my mind._

Somewhere in his wandering he became aware of conversation.

“All I'm saying is if it almost killed him the _first_ time, maybe he shouldn't try it against the giant-Archdemon-looking-thing?”

A man- not someone he could identify. Still, there was something comforting about the lilt of his speech, so he gravitated towards it.

“He claims it strengthens him each time he pushes his limits. At this point, we have no choice but to trust that and support him in this...training.”

A woman this time...the same as in the Deep Roads? How had Dorian addressed her?

_Cassandra._

_Her name is Cassandra._

Startled from hearing himself- but not himself- he stumbled into the open.

“Well if it isn't the man of the hour!” Evallan saw now the man was a light-haired dwarf. “Tired of all the nobles fawning over you?”

He blinked, dumbstruck.

There were two others besides the dwarf- the woman from the Deep Roads, and another.

Shockingly, he recognised the second as a mage from the Orlesian Circle- Madame Vivienne. They were overall friendly but Evallan doubted he could share his current predicament.

He must have looked at her pleadingly- though he hadn't meant to.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

Words failed him. He glanced between the three like cornered prey.

“You do not look well.” The Nevarran woman marched for him- he recoiled.

“I am fine...”

She closed the gap between them anyway, her hand clasping his forehead.

Cursing in Dalish, he smacked her wrist aside.

“ _What are you doing?!”_ He spat, indignant. _“Why does everyone presume to touch me?!”_

The trio regarded him as if he'd sprouted an extra head.

“It was your direction...” Cassandra obliged steadily. “...if you seem unwell, to confirm by checking your temperature...or do you not recall?”

_You do not have to be afraid._

_They are our frien-_

“ _Shut up!”_ He spluttered aloud, flailing away from them. _“Fenharel take all of this!”_

It didn't matter if he was pursued- they wouldn't catch him!

Practically sprinting across the yard, he retreated back into the main hall.

“ _Inquisitor!”_

Was that for him? Who could know.

_It cannot be me-_

_because I am dead!_

Repressing hysterics, he slipped through the crowd and then a doorway, leading into some sort of rotunda.

“ _Eldest Lavellan!”_

That undoubtedly meant him- but he wouldn't stop.

He verged on climbing the stairs-

**“** _ **Evallan!”**_

and staggered forward as if struck.

“I apologise, Inquisitor,” The unfamiliar presence was swift in placating him. “I know by your custom it's considered rude to use your name in such a manner, but you do not appear well.”

This stranger's approach was less threatening than the others somehow- less accusatory.

Settling, Evallan turned to meet a smooth-headed elf with sharp features, standing a polite distance away.

“It...is fine.” He coughed out the lie, struggling. “I am fine.”

Head tilting, the stranger replied in a mixture of bemusement and scepticism.

“Are you – _lying_ to me, Inquisitor?” He breathed out a mild laugh. “And about something so inconsequential? That seems unlike you.”

“Is it?” Evallan hesitated, feeling suddenly childish, stupid. “Then...perhaps you are correct, and I am unwell.”

Regarding him thoughtfully for a time, he then offered;

“Would you like me to find Dorian?”

“Why would you find Dorian?” He answered on reflex.

Smiling uncomfortably, the elf seemed to struggle with how to respond.

“Are you...joking with me?”

Evallan would have attempted to clarify if he weren't startled out of his wits a second later.

“ _It isn't him.”_ A gentle voice from further up the stairs- so sudden it caused him to jump and trip.

Barely correcting his stance against the wall, he heard the elf address their newcomer.

“That is what I am trying to establish, Cole.”

“He fell through.”

He blinked as a young man slunk into the room- blonde hair, face shadowed by a wide hat.

Beyond that- something Evallan incomprehensibly recognised.

“ _Compassion?”_

Blinking back at him, the spirit responded as if playing a game.

“ _Faith?”_

Evallan swore under his breath, head shaking furiously- of course he would be difficult, even here!

“ _I know you!_ \- But you...do not look like that.”

“What else would I look like?” The spirit countered, frowning.

“ _Stop-_ both of you!” The elf intervened, slipping between them. “ _Please_. All you will do is confuse him.”

Successfully diverted, Evallan interrogated him instead.

“ _You_. I know you also.” Did he? Now that he said it, he was unsure. “How do we know each other? How do you know my name?”

Exhaling as if burdened with the worst day of his life, the man scowled into his hand before formulating a response.

“We are related, in a sense.”

“I remember all my kin.” Evallan stated firmly, eyes narrowing. “Yet I cannot place you.”

The initial reply to this was an abrupt laugh- more unnerved than amused.

“To be truthful, that is probably for the best.”

Dumbstruck, Evallan regarded his polished boots and considered he may not be the only one displaced. If this one was experiencing something similar- perhaps he had not gone mad?

_Is this all real- 'in a sense'?_

“Would you like to sit, and perhaps drink some tea?”

He nodded, numbly allowing himself to be cajoled into a seat.

Glass and tin chinked somewhere behind and Evallan calmed enough to inspect their surroundings. This floor of the rotunda was cosy, at least. Upon the walls someone had painted various murals and they itched at the back of his mind.

Still- like everything else- he failed to place them.

All the while he sensed eyes upon him. Growling intolerably, he glared at Compassion's insistent stare.

“ _What?! What is it?!”_

Light hands snatched something from the table- offered it to Evallan.

A rune of Wisdom, a simple enough thing- but the carving itself.

The effortless precision- flawless structure.

Vision misting, he reached out to grasp the object.

“...This is my brother's craft.”

“Hrm? Oh, yes,” The elf reappeared, carrying a tea-set. “Quite a sentimental man, your Amrallan. He gifted a rune to all within your inner circle.”

Liquid steamed and a cup was slid towards him but Evallan couldn't see through the gathering tears.

“How could that be possible?” His voice cracked. He felt them observe him closely.

“What do you mean, _exactly?”_

“My brother died in the Blight- still hardly a man.”

Silence fell. Evallan had the impression those present fought with what to say- what to reveal.

“No.” The elf decided finally. “Amrallan lives. You write him often.”

Emotion whipped through him. Too terrifying and great to muffle.

Too overpowering for anything but to weep.

“Amrallan.” He hiccuped the name. “He was my counterpart. As my brother- he was a piece of me. I was a piece of him.”

He laughed- or did he cry? All he knew was that it pained him. As if he'd just recalled. As if he could lose himself here and make his reality a nightmare.

“He was the light where I cast shade.” He raved on- desperate for them to understand, tossing the rune aside.

“ _His death was the death of the sun!_ I always wondered why Lightbringer did not choose him! If only she had, he-”

Sobs overtook speech. He curled against his knees, attempting to stifle them.

Above him, the spirit squeaked in its haste to console-

“He was the better brother....but you made the better knight- he thought it too!”

The elf was more reserved- saying quietly, once Evallan's cries had softened;

“It is your path to endure. That is something you've always known- is that not so?”

Sniffling, he battled to contain himself, peeking at their morose faces between his fingers.

“My clan- my family...?”

“They have faced some trials, but they are thriving,” He conveyed, sighing in resignation. “Verillana and Villyen- those are their names, I believe?”

On his feet instantly, Evallan almost upset the table.

“ _I must speak with them!”_

Frowning seriously, still the man was calm in his response-

“You will be unable to reach them in whatever little time you have.”

Words processed with great difficulty, Evallan snarled.

“ _What do you mean?!”_

Pointed features hardened, seeming to will Evallan to keep himself together- tone just as stern.

“An incredibly unlikely series of events had to coincidence _perfectly_ to allow this interference.”

His steady speech had the desired effect- somehow Evallan was compelled to restrain himself.

“Then I must...are there letters?- _Anything?”_

“The door to the left of the throne.”

The elf didn't stand as Evallan rushed through the exit, though he felt eyes on his back.

A pair of feet did follow briefly- almost silent-

“Let him be, Cole. You cannot help him.”

\- and ceased there.

In the hall once more- he marched for the throne..

Bumping shoulders with someone, a scent like wine and smoke wafted from the figure.

Evallan knew him before a word was uttered.

“Amatus- there you are- what in the- _Evallan!”_

Yet also knew he couldn't stop. Not for anything.

Barging through the crowd, he passed the throne and careened into an adjacent entrance.

Winding stairs brought him higher- to a room oozing so much comfort and warmth it almost offended him. Scanning over the plush bed and writing desk, he puzzled over where to search for family correspondence.

_Not in the writing desk._

_Not with official documents._

_Where you would carry them with you- always._

He surveyed the area, particularly on any coat-hooks or door-frames...

_Yes- exactly._

Slung on a chair- the same ragged travel pack he always carried. Though it felt strange- not as worn, with a buckle intact where it should be split.

Rummaging, he extracted a stack of pages- Amrallan's hand-writing, neat and elaborate.

Crumpled on the expensive floor-tiles, his eyes roamed the lines of script, hardly perceivable through a sheen of moisture.

_'We miss you dearly, brother.'_

_'You should know that I am infinitely proud!'_

_'Villyen is difficult to understand some things. It has always been his way.'_

_'You should not fault him for it.'_

_'The other day he said 'so he is a shemlen prophet, or something?' and I told him that of course you are! He should go tell all the humans as much!'_

_'It would have embarrassed you quite a bit, I think.'_

Evallan barely managed to digest these few scraps. Grief and outrage dominated in equal parts.

Not wanting to ruin the letters for their true owner, he was careful in replacing them.

Then he huddled against the sickening finery that encased him, bawling as he'd never done before.

_Why were you taken from me?_

_Why was I left to do this alone?_

_How did I fail so spectacularly?!_

_Yet here- all I know is success?!_

“Evallan...?”

_Please, no._

That particular pronunciation of his name-

a sob strangled in his throat.

“You...are here...” He whimpered, tried to glare. _“Why are you always here?!”_

Dorian arched his brows, visibly mystified- perhaps even a bit offended.

“ _Excuse me...?”_ He approached tentatively, not reaching for Evallan- clearly wanting to. “What in all of bloody Thedas is that meant to imply?”

“ _You...”_ Evallan ground out, flailed to stand.

Hands extended for him and he wanted to shove.

Instead he weakly grasped Dorian's attire, yanking the luxurious material.

“ _Why_....are _you_ always here?!” An accusation that escaped in a whine, jostling the man, helplessly crying-

“ _Everywhere I look!_ In my dreams- in the Fade- even in another world! Why is it always you?! Why not my brother?! Why not my mother?! Why is it always _you_ by my side?!”

Grabbed by the shoulder- he was lightly shaken, Dorian spluttering-

“ _Maker,_ Evallan! _Where else would I be?!”_

Pulled forward. So desperate in his embrace.

Evallan yielded, weeping into the man's coat.

Gradually he ran out of tears, his throat and head ached.

Two facts blurred into focus;

Dorian still held to him, and-

“Your amulet...you are wearing it again.”

Patting him for consolation the entire time, his response was understandably distracted;

“You...got it back for me- you don't remember?”

Snivelling against his shoulder, Evallan shook his head.

“I remember...some of what I see,” He managed to croak. “But of what I remember...None of it is in place.”

Dorian squeezed him tighter, heaved a sigh, swore.

“ _Kaffas,_ Evallan...Why did you have to drink from that blighted well?”

For some reason he was inspired to laugh.

“I did something impulsive, did I?”

“ _Hrm!”_ Dorian laughed too- considerably more bitter. “And you looked at me very seriously when you did and said _'it is my duty'_ – I _still_ haven't forgiven you, I hope you realise.”

Reality lurched and steadied before his eyes, watching his fingers curl into the threading of Dorian's collar.

“I am sorry, ma vhenan,” He huffed the admittance, feeling distant. “But it _was_ my duty.”

A hand clasped his, another aimed for his chin, guiding their eyes to meet.

“And what of your duty to me, amatus? Did you forget?”

Evallan felt each word like a punch in the heart, choking to muster a response-

“No. I never forgot.”

Smiling in relief but Dorian's gaze was still melancholic. He tugged Evallan closer, until their foreheads pressed together, as if sharing a secret.

“Do you promise?” He asked quietly, chuckling without humour. “No matter what happens in that unpredictable, spirit-bound mind of yours- you'll know where home is?”

“Yes.” Evallan said without hesitation- not needing to think. “I promise.”

Comforted by that, the Tevinter exhaled, seeming to relax as he returned to hugging.

Evallan relaxed also.

He breathed and indulged in a security that had never blessed him.

“I do not want to leave.” He heard himself squeak, suppressing more tears.

There was a pause, the knead of Dorian's hands briefly stilling.

“It's true, then,” He noted, almost conversational. “You're _actually_ not my Evallan.”

Exposed and somehow feeling shamed, he made to disentangle from their embrace but was promptly repositioned- Dorian arms still around him.

“Where you are,” He spoke while cajoling- Evallan relented. “-am I there? Can you reach me?”

Determination shone in the way he looked at him- a determination Evallan knew well.

He managed a nod.

“Then find me.” Dorian stated, full of resolve. “Find me and hold onto me. I promise- wherever we are, whatever might be happening...I _will_ protect you.”

Emotion stung his already sore eyes- he barked a laugh, anguished.

“I am not the one who needs protecting!”

Smiling sadly, Dorian brushed some errant strands from his face.

“You always say that,” He cleared Evallan's tears, soothing with his tone. “And I've always found it to be quite untrue.”

Sniffling, he buried his face into its favoured nook in the man's shoulder and clutched as if for sanity. Never complaining, Dorian stroked his back, sometimes reassuring;

“Everything will be alright- I have you.”

Cradled in that precious security, Evallan lacked the conviction to voice his fear.

_You do not understand._

_We will not be like this._

_I will be alone._

  
\--  
  


Evallan woke up alone.

Above him, dangling from its usual place, was the rune Fila had gifted. It put him at ease, despite knowing it could offer no aid to the sear of his wounds. They burned hotter than any pain, blinding him and muffling his thoughts.

Yet he had to think. Teeth grit, he tried to wrangle together a sensible picture with all the floating pieces.

_It could not have been real._

_Some sort of illusion?_

Sitting up, he surveyed himself and discovered evidence to the contrary.

Both his hands were crisped, awfully inflamed- but only one emitted light. Faintly green- mostly colourless. The answer came to him in a moment- though he had no idea where from.

_An anchor to somewhere else._

_The only thing keeping me alive- or sane._

That epiphany brought with it a wealth of turmoil and grief. He strived to overcome it, seething as he rolled to flounder from the bed.

_Do not think of Amrallan._

_Do not think of Dorian Pavus._

He knew what had to be prioritised. Struggling with a nearby drawer, he cried out but willed himself to open, rifling until he found parchment.

No ink and he'd utilised his last charcoal to summon Compassion, what seemed like years ago- he doubted he could hold either, in any case. At least his injuries served one purpose- bursting a scab with his teeth, he used blood to scribble, hissing at the friction.

_Mythal._

_Your name is Mythal._

_If I remember these symbols- I can show you._

By some divine grace, the arrangement of his completed vallaslin was imprinted upon his consciousness. Jaw clenched through the burn, he sketched until hastily recording each symbol.

At the end he was tremulous all over from strain. Carefully placing the paper in the drawer- above everything else- he curled upon the ground and sobbed. As much as he told himself it was due to physical suffering- the detachment from his spirit-bond- his wandering thoughts betrayed him.

_Dorian._

_Where are you?_

_What have they done to you?_

His wounds demanded he rest but his heart commanded him to move. Lurching for the door, the handle refused to turn- locked from the outside, what had he expected?

“Hello...?” He hazarded lamely, knocking for attention. “Is anyone there...?”

No one. They had accurately concluded he was no threat in his current state- lacking magic and too drained for physical alternatives.

“Please...” He croaked, deciding to try once more. “If anyone is there...”

Yet had no idea what he meant to say.

_Speak to me. Say anything._

_Do not leave me alone._

Solitude was something he had existed with almost naturally- but it was different now. Sharper.

Before, whenever he felt loneliness or fear- all he had to do was look within himself. No matter how dire the circumstance, at his core there was always light. Certainty. Purpose.

Now there was nothing.

Worse than nothing- there was a wound.

Evallan sat on the floor and mulled over what even made him who he was.

_'A place where I am whole,'_

In that place, what had he seen? A mountain of inconsistencies, yes- but asides from that? What had been _the same?_

Lightbringer. His clan.

_Dorian._

Leading him through the dark, whenever he opened his eyes.

_I must reach him._

_Then...I will know myself._

_And together- we will reach her._

A metallic click interrupted his pondering and he instinctively tucked hands into robes, concealing the glow. The lock commenced its shuffle and it was the First Enchanter who limped inside- disappointing Evallan.

He held himself from inquiring over Dorian Pavus.

Sighing in exhaustion, Irving traversed the room. In his hands were a bowl of water, some bandages and other healing items. He laid these near Evallan before speaking.

“I had hoped you would remember some of our conversations before your departure.”

Evallan blinked up at him, otherwise unmoving.

“What part was I to remember?” He mumbled, sincerely clueless.

“The part where I advised you not to take responsibility for the blunders of others, perhaps?”

His response was a mere shrug, looking away.

“Well...I would like to hear _your_ account of the situation, Keeper Lavellan.”

“I cannot say,” Evallan excused as blandly as he could, voice shaken. “It was quick- Lightbringer acted on her own accord.”

The elder mage sighed, viewing him with pity.

“There will be an investigation, you realise? The Chantry might even request their own people to conduct it.”

Evallan regarded the floor and said nothing.

“I assume then,” Irving noted wearily, straightening. “That you have no statement in your defence?”

“None.”

He was studied for a long time, both mute.

“I have been told,” The First Enchanter pried. “That Dorian Pavus arrived some time before you.”

Evallan nodded.

Silence again- though it didn't last as long.

“I suppose, then,” Irving stated meaningfully. “That to involve him in such an investigation would be a waste of resources.”

He felt the knot in his chest loosen and somehow contained relief from his tone.

“I suppose.”

“I imagine you would prefer to care for yourself- rather than have someone fuss over you.” Irving indicated the bowl and other items. Evallan gave a terse nod.

“I doubt you're able to cause many issues in your current state. You will still be expected to remain here for the night. After that, you will be enclosed to the higher levels of the tower- though Greagoir and I agree it poses no risk for you to take your meals in the hall. At the _usual_ time, mind you- not _your_ usual time.”

Evallan repeated his nod, barely hearing.

All he cared to hear was something he felt too ashamed to ask over.

“Well...unless there is anything else-” The elder mage shuffled for the exit and Evallan's heart seized- words bursting from him-

“ _Wait!-_ Dorian Pavus- what of him!?”

Irving blinked over his shoulder- feigning obliviousness, and so patronisingly!

“He was subdued, but with no serious injury. He, too, will be permitted to wander in the morning- with no restriction, of course. All things considered, it is a mercy he intervened when he did.”

“Yes,” He exhaled, not really meaning to speak. “Yes- I suspect that is true.”

Not commenting further, Irving left him to his thoughts.

When he next heard that metallic _'click'_ it was Dorian Pavus and Evallan could do nothing to restrain himself.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened and most of it just exists to be upsetting and confusing and will never be referred to again because multiverses are like that and I'm just mean.


	17. Lightbringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 8) Dorian visits Evallan's dream- and Lightbringer.

A landscape of ice stretched before him, broken up by pockets of void or an awkward section of library, protruding from the blanket of white or simply levitating.

Dorian struggled to remember what he'd been doing- or where he was. There were some similarities to his own dream- the snowfall from his Harrowing had never dissipated. However any discernible structure had been- for the most part- scraps of Tevinter.

Here, the scraps were quite different- yet still familiar.

Pressing onwards, an epiphany struck him the more he absorbed.

Spires and tablets, riddled in script that often faded into torturous red.

_Evallan's writing!_

Of course- he walked the Keeper's dream! Those familiar pieces- clearly the Ferelden Tower, now that he examined closer. Not just any place in the tower but the _library_ \- which caused Dorian to halt, feeling oddly bashful.

 _Where we studied-_ really?

_It was that significant to him..?_

A tremendous sound ripped him from those thoughts- like a broken bell, repeatedly smashed. It reverberated through the dream and his own skull. Keeling over, he embraced his head until the discordant chimes ceased and only managed a few steps before they restarted. This time he was more prepared, merely wincing while stalking for the noise.

There was no question in Dorian's mind- this cacophony would lead to his goal.

Traversing snow and misplaced bits of tower, he reached the edge of Evallan's dream. Ice and library ended abruptly, revealing a jagged tear in the world itself, open to the void. Beyond that tear- exactly the thing- or being- Dorian aimed to help.

To someone unschooled in the Fade it would have looked like madness- an iced over library with an abyss in the middle, a dimension of sprawling glass and light on the other side. However he understood- their dreams were bound. Now they drifted apart.

Therefore Lightbringer's containment had shattered. From his place at the brink of the void he could see her- or what he assumed had to be her- a humanoid form built from light, radiance leaking into the Fade. As he observed she morphed, shrank or grew with the surreality of an abstract painting.

When inevitably, she could no longer stifle her own will, it exploded in a mad display of chimes and colour, before wrangling her projection into order once more. Flinching, senses dazzled, he called out;

“ _Lightbringer! Over here!”_

Fighting to convey a rigid and humanoid form, she whirled for the edge. If Lightbringer had eyes, Dorian was sceptical he'd be able to view them through the glow- either way, it was obvious he had her attention.

“Do you remember me!? Dorian Pavus!?”

She tilted her chin knowingly, the gesture seeming to pain her- as if her neck wished to extend passed her intent.

“I'm here to help! But, I, ah...” Trailing off, he examined his surroundings- even above their heads, blackness encroached. Dorian imagined Evallan's consciousness trapped there somewhere- scooped right from his own sacred place and pocketed in the dark Fade.

“We...we need to seal this, yes?!”

He hazarded, staring desperately towards the amorphous Spirit. She nodded.

“Well how are we to do that?!” Glancing around, he saw nothing that could aid them in stitching shut a wound in the bloody Fade!

Between his glances he noticed Lightbringer- pointing squarely at him. Blinking, he furrowed his brow.

“Well yes- _me_ , but how will I-”

A bright streak launched from her fingertip to his chest, piercing like frostbite. Yelping, he patted the offending sting and glared downwards- only to note something he hadn't before.

Dim but very much present- a dot of light, shining from the centre of his chest.

“ _Oh, Maker!”_ He lamented with a startled laugh. “When did _that_ get there?!”

All the while she stared at him meaningfully, still pointing.

“Yes- you're right- that doesn't matter right now!”

Dropping his hand, he calculated.

“If I have this...that means you can connect to Evallan's dream through me! Then when he gets back- you should be safe and sound waiting for him! Have I got that right?”

Her own hand lowered, nodding.

Sighing in relief, Dorian puzzled further.

“Your host told me not to act without his say, but...” He snorted, flashing a grin. “I think we both know there's no time for that- for once, he really is going to have to trust me.”

They seemed to be in agreement- she continued watching expectantly, her colour still oozing.

“Alright, well...” Straightening, he hardened his features. “Whatever you have to do...I'm ready for it!”

There was quite an anti-climatic moment of mutual staring.

Then the Spirit's hand ascended, targeting Dorian's chest.

He readied himself, expecting another stab of discomfort.

Something flickered across the void and embedded into his ribcage, cold enough he shuddered.

“Well...” He relaxed, chuckling. “That wasn't so bad.”

Lightbringer watched him, passively waiting.

“...I don't like that.” Dorian mumbled, frowning at her. “What does that mean? Why are you looking at me like- _AH!- OW- OW!”_

It was as if he'd just bitten snow- his brain ached intolerably, a frost that swiftly encapsulated each limb, forcing them to crumble. On his knees, the world became a haze of white, nerves muffled, all senses drowned.

A numbing sensation possessed his body yet he was still cold. Shivering violently, it slowly dawned there were shapes in this haze- a gust of breath in the chill air, small dents and hills within snow. For some reason he was awfully exerted- gasping and shaking and so, so tired- but knowing he couldn't stop.

_Stop what?_

_Lightbringer- hello?_

_What are we doing..?_

Upon closer inspection he spied two hands half-buried in white. Clearly a child's hands- small and pale but inflamed from low temperatures.

He already had a guess as to who they belongd to- still, a voice clarified-

“Evallan...”

Dorian was unable to place it initially. Not too concerned, he observed as tiny hands dragged upwards, feeling the scrape against his knuckles.

_I see now._

_I'm in his memory._

_We're piecing it back together._

Unwinding from his curled position, the youthful Evallan snarled as he beheld a ruined wall ahead. Painted lines dictated targets and icicles riddled the uneven surface- all noticeably swayed to one side, missing points that seemed to be marked higher.

_Target practise? How charming!_

_That wall looks like they've been at it for generations._

“ _Evallaaaaaan!”_

Ignoring this, Evallan pounced to his feet, tossing a fistful of ice which only landed further to the side. Promptly falling over, he took his rage out on the snow, fists slamming into ground impotently.

Melodious laughter rang over them- this time Dorian was _certain_ he knew that voice.

“Villyen sleeps, he is exhausted! We should return to camp.”

Evallan turned his head and Dorian saw clearly now- Amrallan, though years before their brief acquaintanceship. He sat in a pile of furs, the tiniest Lavellan snoozing in his arms.

Unquestionably it was time to retire- but Evallan couldn't allow himself. He about-faced, stubbornly muttering.

“No...No, it is still so off-centre.”

While he prepared his stance- slowly and deliberately, Amrallan considered in his sing-song manner;

“You know, Evallan...when I was your age, I could not hit the centre target either.”

Swiftly glaring, Evallan spat, indignant-

“How off-centre, compared to mine?” Then, scowling for emphasis. _“And do not lie!_ You _know_ we cannot lie to each other!”

Amrallan sighed with the wistful air of a long-suffering sibling.

“Perhaps a few degrees inwards of your mark, brother.” He admitted, shrugging and smiling.

“ _That is what I thought!”_ Spinning from him, Evallan focused on his spell- he would concentrate this time- _really_ concentrate. The only thing obstructing success was himself!

“And why is it so important? We return tomorrow- you continue practising, you will hit that mark eventually!”

With a burdensome exhale he met his brother's gaze. His brother for whom everything came so easily, whose runes always functioned on the first try, whose spells always landed perfectly, whose first attempts were always astounding successes.

 _'Naturally gifted',_ as the Elders called him- in part because despite these achievements, he would rather play than work. Amrallan never strived for brilliance- he was of the lucky few for whom brilliance is second nature.

“It is because...” Evallan struggled to express himself, eyes pinning targets. “ _I simply cannot!-_ I know I can do better- so I must!”

“What am I to say?” Amrallan sighed with feigned exhaustion. “Do better then, brother!”

Taking that to heart, Evallan threw out his hands and this time an icicle- just one- stabbed the middle point and remained there.

Over his shoulder there was hooting and clapping, Amrallan cheering him- while Villyen whined.

“ _Mythal smiles on you, Evallan!_ Are you satisfied now?”

Gathering cool air into his lungs, Evallan savoured with a smile.

“Yes, brother.”

Mist clouded Dorian's vision, the memory blown aside.

When it cleared he had a view of Evallan's hands again- except this time they held a crudely-carved rune and the only light was from stars above. Fingers were blistered and reddened but still Evallan worked, trying his utmost to whittle a rune befitting of the Lavellan clan.

“Evallan...” Amrallan's voice from within the aravel- unsurprisingly, he was ignored.

“ _Evallan!”_ His brother tried again, more urgently. Evallan was fixated on his task.

There was a creak from the aravel and with a glance, he saw Amrallan pop his head from a window.

“Go back to your bunk, please?” He beseeched in a whine.

Evallan furrowed his brow at him and continued working.

Amrallan flailed against the aravel, near-sobbing.

“ _Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase you know I cannot sleep if you do not sleep!”_

“ _And none of us sleep if HE does not sleep!!”_ Another youth supplied from within.

Scoffing, Evallan denied them both. He would not rest until he was satisfied- they should all know that by now. Fighting the soreness in his hands, he dug into a new block of wood.

There was a clatter and then a thud- Amrallan sliding from the window to sit alongside him. Groaning in exasperation, he reached for a discarded rune.

“Here, let me see.”

“ _I cannot get it right!”_ Evallan bit out, kicking away one of the failed enchantments.

“Look- I will show you how to do it,” Amrallan plucked the knife from his grasp. “You watch carefully and try to copy, yes? Now...watch very carefully, brother! I will only do this once- and then we sleep!”

As excitably as he agreed, within minutes Evallan was soothed into slumber, observing intricate slices, marvelling at how flawlessly the material bent to his sibling's will.

_He just wanted to be equal to his brother, didn't he?_

_That's why he always tried so hard._

_That's why you took an interest._

Next he was sprinting bare-foot, over cold and rocky terrain. The sky swung into view- crystal clear but just as brisk. Dorian was unsure what was happening or if he should be concerned- until his stomach flipped and the sky was replaced by water- still as clear, still as cold.

Evallan broke through the surface and Amrallan plunged in after. They were _meant_ to collect materials for Lightbringer's offering- but Evallan stalled for weeks and continued to do so. Instead he convinced his brother to go diving from the waterfalls- it hadn't been difficult, as this was one of Amrallan's favoured activities.

Somewhere between launching from waterfalls and racing each other up cliffs, an argument arose. Dorian only caught the latter half- it was somewhat disorienting, being thrown into ice-water repeatedly, with the added complication of inhabiting another's dream.

“Coward.” Evallan stated, perusing from a new vantage point.

“Coward?!” Amrallan spluttered, laughing.

“Using a spell, you would not be injured.”

“Shut up! You would be!” His brother guffawed. “I would like to see you try- and break a leg!”

“I will not break a leg!” He snarled, determined. “You want to see?”

“You are half mad, brother,” Rolling his eyes, Amrallan gestured across the water. “Go on then- break a leg.”

Dorian was still lost. It wasn't until Evallan hopped to a further ledge and looked down that he processed the boy's meaning. The lake was almost entirely free of ice near the falls but here- only a frozen surface waited below.

_No-no-no- WAIT!_

His instinctive panic accomplished nothing- for a second he'd forgotten Evallan couldn't hear. The wild youth sprang and Dorian internally cringed.

Tumbling downwards, limbs tucked into himself, Evallan summoned a barrier just in time to crash through ice- shockingly unscathed.

 _You_ always _used spells in ways you're not meant to, I see!_

Chilly murk engulfed them, barrier fading. Back then he practically sustained himself with cold- years before his aura spoiled him. Pleased, Evallan spun beneath the depths, observing as sunlight seethed between cracks, shining in waves.

_You're lingering a bit- don't you think?_

After all, whatever opening he'd forced couldn't be terribly large- and here the fool elf drifted, watching bloody lights.

Finally reaching the same conclusion, Evallan kicked upwards until fingertips touched surface- only to realise exactly what Dorian feared.

_You were distracted- and now you're stuck!_

At first Evallan didn't fret, merely attempted to backtrack. However as his lungs emptied and his way still lost, desperation possessed him. Scrabbling against the ice he tried to find a way to break through but frosting his hands only weighed him down. Incapable of much-needed momentum with the lake holding him- he inhaled.

There was an abrupt collision. The surface over his head split, disturbed tides scattering fragments. Choking and snorting liquid, completely winded- but Evallan understood.

Especially when an arm slung around him, Amrallan saying in grief and amazement-

“ _What did I tell you?!”_

Events stumbled, blurred- a strike to his chest. Regurgitating liquid, feeling winter embedded into his very fibres. Thinking it was not so bad- except his lungs ached.

A homely warmth. Scent of herbs and spices, the gentle aroma of their aravel. He was aware of bickering as the world swam into view.

“ _Fenharel curse me to have two such reckless boys!”_

Evallan's mother- with an inflection Dorian never had the privilege to witness but was rather amusing. Somewhere between enraged and dying of concern- nothing like the stern matriarch she had presented herself to the shem.

“Sorry, Keeper.” Amrallan mumbled, completely dejected- to the point of exaggeration, really.

“ _I do not want to hear it!”_ Apparently she'd noticed this exaggeration, too. “You are two years his senior and were given a task! How is it I am always dragging you out of lakes and caves as though you know no better?!”

“He was so confident, Keeper,” The young Lavellan chortled. “I started to believe him.”

“ _By the Creators!-_ enough!” She spluttered, faltering on what to say. _“Just like your father_ \- always- _enough!”_

The aravel door slammed and Evallan risked peeking beyond his bunk.

Amrallan was already grinning up at him.

“Now I _know_ she is angry!” He cackled, mimicking childishly. _“'Just like your father- try to take it seriously, Amrallan Lavellan!'”_

However, Evallan was preoccupied by one thing;

“I did not break my leg.”

Amrallan guffawed, rolling his eyes.

“You still almost drowned yourself!”

“I could not find my way up.” He admitted with a pout.

“A good thing I am as stupid as you!” Amrallan threw his head back, hooting. “But really, brother...You will have to stop procrastinating eventually. Though if getting drowned was part of your plan- it was a good one!”

Chewing his lip, Evallan huddled into blankets without comment.

_Wait- the offering he was meant to craft-_

_That was to summon_ you, _yes?_

_It's funny...I always imagined him to be excited for it._

_I suppose he was embarrassed, almost._

_After all- you didn't choose Amrallan._

_If you'd paid Evallan even_ less _mind...he would have felt humiliated._

As he spoke a new image materialised; Lightbringer- the object, not the spirit. Looking cumbersome and large in Evallan's tiny hand, no doubt regarding his work with a serious expression.

Whenever Dorian beheld Lightbringer, he had to confess he'd regarded the weapon highly- even the craft of it. However to see it freshly made and grasped by Evallan, he realised there was nothing special about it. In fact the work was shoddy in places- etchings wonky and weight unbalanced.

Not to say it was ugly- but Dorian realised for the first time how _flawed_ Lightbringer actually was.

_He was what- ten?_

_Of course it would look that way._

_I'm surprised it looks decent at all, really.._

_I wonder how the rest of Thedas would feel-_

_if they knew their fates rely on the design of a ten year old!_

“It is a fine offer, Evallan- time to stop stalling,” Amrallan was saying with a chuckle. “I do not think anyone has put as much thought into their offering as you!”

“I thought it would be fun to make a sword.” Evallan defended lamely.

“You thought it would be fun?” He snorted. “Or you thought it would take the longest amount of time?”

Lips pursed, he refused to answer.

_He's right, though._

_Amrallan could always see right through him, couldn't he?_

_But he must have found his nerve eventually..._

_...or we wouldn't be here._

Colour drained from the scene, leaving Dorian in that now-familiar, endless void.

This must have been part of Evallan's ritual; a chorus of unintelligible whispers crowded his mind- they were Dalish, he assumed, but whatever mechanism allowed him to understand the Lavellans' speech failed now.

 _Not for the likes of_ me _to hear, is it?_

Dorian considered, internally chuckling.

_I see how it is!_

A moment later and he stood within a summoning circle- or what he safely concluded had to be a summoning circle. Most of the pattern was entrenched in snow, ice creeping passed the outline. Safely distanced from this cast, Evallan's family and clan observed, transfixed.

Evallan had spectated upon countless initiations and had never seen the Spirit's will manifest in such a way- not while the clan-member was under, not when they woke.

He was unsure how to take this. At the end of his arm the enchanted blade still shone, almost blinding.

Blinking passed that he met Amrallan's enthused gaze and noted the subtle movement of his lips- he was counting.

Realising why, Evallan counted along with him.

The Spirit had graced Amrallan's offering- an unassuming bracelet- for thirty-one seconds in total. In truth as long as he met his brother's mark, Evallan would be satisfied.

Soon he was securely ahead and ceased his count, mystified as he stared at Amrallan- who continued, grinning.

Seeking out his mother, Evallan's chords trembled;

“It...it is not going out.”

She examined him studiously, mouth in a reserved line- refusing to be infected by Amrallan's excitement, still counting and no longer doing so subtly.

“Eight-six! That's eighty-six!”

“ _We can count, Amrallan!”_ An impatient elder rebuffed.

Huffing in denouncement of this foolery, his mother instructed;

“Step out of the circle, da'len.”

Evallan hesitated- a part of him wanted to stay where he was. As long as he didn't move, his fate was unsealed- neither rejected nor especially favoured. Once outside, he would know for certain what his place in this world would be.

He wasn't ready to know- but his clan stood there; intrigued, apprehensive, hopeful.

Gulping, he urged his feet over the threshold, holding Lightbringer stiffly ahead.

The circle dimmed behind him.

In his hand, Lightbringer still radiated.

“ _I knew it!”_ Amrallan's arms were around him before he understood what occurred. “I knew it would be our Evallan! Mythal indeed smiles on you, brother!”

Stunned- he could hardly think- surely there had to be some mistake?

He was hardly the most intelligent or skilled.

To hear the Elders tell it, the only thing Evallan Lavellan was most at was _'height_ ' and _'recklessness'_.

“She may simply be comfortable.” Their mother must have sensed his anxiety. “We will not know until tonight.”

Yet the blade warmed his fingers and Evallan knew it would only dissipate at his will. He spent the rest of the afternoon awkwardly lugging it around, assaulted by questions from other children. Mostly it was-

“Does it feel funny?”

“I do not know. I do not really feel anything.”

“Maybe nothing happened then- maybe she just likes the sword!”

Evallan shrugged.

That night while everyone slept, he lurched from his bunk and tumbled outside the aravel, unable to see passed a luminous sheen. Carried by heartfelt certainty- a deranged knowing- he floundered into the dark and raked his fingers through ice.

It occurred to Dorian that on this occasion, he wasn't sharing Evallan's vision- the boy's consciousness was caught in the Fade. Lightbringer wandered, needing to embed her roots into the material realm- somehow, writing helped, even if none of the words remained.

They worked in tandem- one in the Fade, one in reality. By doing so, they made themselves part of each other's world.

Sometime in the middle of this someone grabbed them and Dorian's view switched to Amrallan's face, smiling drowsily. Whatever he said failed to penetrate the Spirit's senses. Blinking, she keeled over, her sleeping host left in the care of his brother.

His consciousness drifted, blearily registering discussion above.

“I _did_ know it would be him- I always did,” Amrallan chortled, full of pride. “If there is a mage as tenacious as my brother- I would not want to meet him!”

“Your father, perhaps- though Lightbringer favoured not even him.” Their mother said quietly, trying not to disturb the unconscious boy.

“Hrm- that would make sense! If it were not for Evallan...I think I would miss father more- I hope that is not wrong to say.”

“It is not wrong to say,” How she laughed was still rather sad. “The Gods failed when they placed you apart.”

Their conversation muffled then died out. Dorian floated through emptiness.

_I wonder if...he actually remembers they said that._

_Or if I just saw it because_ you _saw it._

_I should tell him how proud Amrallan was of him..._

_...just in case he doesn't know._

A piercing sensation jolted him into a new memory- for a moment all Dorian fathomed was needling pain. Adjusting, he squinted to note they were curled upon a bench, someone delicately cutting into Evallan's arm with some strange tool. It looked like something you'd use to carve an enchantment- only for flesh.

Evallan didn't mind the discomfort- it meant his place within the clan was cemented. Something that had terrified him for months- he had been afraid. What if he didn't like his place? What if he couldn't live up to the expectation?

All that was gone now. Lightbringer's circle fit him like a glove. Each shape was a piece reclaimed and when it was over he leapt onto his feet, invigorated and bloody.

Amrallan had earned his vallaslin years prior but in honour of the occasion, both he and Evallan requested supplementary pieces. Dorian had to admit he'd never given much thought to their vallaslin- after all, if he asked what any meant it wasn't as if someone would tell.

Now however, he was able to see though the brothers' tattoos were markedly different, both had a complimentary swipe under one eye. Something like a gnarled wing- through Evallan's perspective, Dorian understood this purposeful asymmetry titled them as the ' _left'_ and _'right'_ of the Lavellan Clan.

Though this wasn't the detail Villyen commented on, piping up;

“Your vallaslin says _'older brother'_...but he is Eldest now. It will be confusing.”

The designs Amrallan chose years ago communicated his position as the _actual_ eldest Lavellan- a testament to how significantly he regarded his role as brother.

Scoffing at their youngest, Amrallan clapped Evallan on the back.

“Confusing to who?! I am _his_ older brother and he is _our_ Eldest- only a shem would be confused by that!”

Evallan snorted and Villyen lolled his eyes, ambling away to play in the dirt. Amrallan gazed after him with a hint of concern and Evallan inquired without words, communicating with a mere look.

Sighing, Amrallan nodded towards Villyen's back.

“I worry for him.”

He blinked, raised a brow.

“Why? He seems well.”

“He is the youngest- furthest in age from both of us...I worry that as we grow, he will feel left behind.”

Evallan sneered, countering firmly;

“He will have no reason to feel that way,” Then, full of naïve certainty. “We would never leave him behind.”

His brother huffed a chuckle, laughing off his adult-like concerns.

“You are right, of course.”

Time passed and Evallan grew into his role seamlessly. After a decade and so much warfare, it was easy to forget Lightbringer's original purpose involved no destruction. Her host and herself were predominantly teachers and caretakers- though Evallan initially had no clue as to what he should teach. Lightbringer favoured a mage once every few generations- there wasn't exactly a blueprint left for him.

So he did what he'd always done as an older youth- teach what they asked, barring anything that would cause injury- even if they really whined. Sometimes this involved magic- more often it involved settling disputes or answering unanswerable questions.

“Eldeeeest! She stole all my cookies the baker gifted us!”

“Da'len, what is this? You know we do not steal.”

“ _HE_ was meant to share! He never shares anything!”

“Da'len...have I not taught you to share? Are you spending too much time with the shem?”

“Eldest...why is the night sky dark?”

“Because the sun is out.”

“But why does the sun go out?”

“Because the halla need to sleep- as do you.”

Someone who wasn't familiar with Evallan might have found this image of him as a parental young lad strange. To Dorian it was precisely who he should have been allowed to be- warm, content, always busying himself with the well being of others, freer to laugh and play than one might expect. His abilities inclined towards personable needs; adept at sensing the intent of others, or making himself or those around difficult to see- something his mother taught him, enhanced by Lightbringer. His aura came soon after and he would cast it on the children whenever they travelled unkind lands.

As he grew so did the responsibility he carried- but this always excited him more than burdened him.

Racing through the Korcari Wilds with Amrallan, hunting deer far from shemlen lands.

Venturing into cities and towns for trade- often picking up young, elven stragglers. Magically blessed and with nowhere to go- it was either them, or the Circle.

They would meet with other clans often- for solstice festivals, to foster partnerships, or take on Dalish mages whom their own clans felt ill-prepared to raise and defend.

Sometimes they bargained with Templars- and fought, if need be- though it was rare. Evallan's particular distaste for the organisation was easily explained- all he'd ever known them as were shemlen brutes, meaning to imprison elves who belonged elsewhere. With them- a real family, who would cherish and teach them.

For a few miraculous years, life moved comfortably.

_I can't help but notice a lack of, ah..._

_Well, most boys start noticing_ other people _by now._

Though Dorian understood to some degree- within his clan, Evallan strived for a reverent demeanour. If any of them _did_ harbour feelings for him, they'd probably consider it disrespectful. That still didn't explain why he seemed equally oblivious to attention from youths in the neighbouring clans- if any looked at Evallan, he acted wilfully clueless. This along with his frosty manner and honoured reputation was enough to ward anyone off.

Few had the nerve to approach and Evallan was contently married to his purpose. Anyone trying their luck naturally had to be ignorant to his position.

So of course- such events only occurred among shemlen.

Dorian was treated to at least one of these embarrassing exchanges within a city market, though couldn't guess which- his tour of Ferelden had been limited to roads and towers. The two Lavellan brothers, inseparable through years, lingered to spectate a street performance.

Humans displayed tricks of fire and tumbling, bringing attention to some event or other. They wouldn't attend, of course- but it didn't hurt to watch, for a little while.

Evallan felt eyes on him several times but the street was crowded enough he paid no mind- someone might just think he meant to steal. Besides, Amrallan had most of his focus- heckling and criticising.

“I know children who can tumble better! Do a proper trick!” He cackled, shifting a huge grin at his brother. Since they were in public, all he'd offer is a mild twinge in response- but that was enough for Amrallan.

“Hello there!”

Blinking, Evallan regarded the sudden appearance of a human lad; in similar colourful garb to the performers, although with a tray looped around his shoulders, full of baked goods.

He was especially cheerful for a serving hand- with dark hair and eyes like gold. Though Evallan had to look down to see them- by now he'd already begun to dwarf anyone in his age bracket.

Since Evallan just silently criticised, he went on, seemingly unperturbed;

“Would you like something?”

Aware his brother observed- he'd stopped heckling- Evallan stated, his tone thick ice;

“No. Go Away.”

Amrallan was quick to intervene, stepping forward with a laugh.

“I apologise for my brother's rudeness! We however, do not make it a point to carry money with us.”

“So you probably don't want anything.” The shem said, laughing also.

“We said we did not.” Evallan ground out, leering.

“Not even for free?” He chortled, deftly tossing something at Evallan's chest- it was either catch with his hand or his clean robes. On reflex, he moved his hand.

A warm sweet-bun landed in Evallan's palm. He blinked dumbly at the shem, could feel his cheeks turn several shades of red. The other youth grinned meaningfully and slunk back to his work.

“I think that shem likes you, brother!” Amrallan chuckled, increasing Evallan's awkward dismay.

“Fenharel take whatever blighted thing the shem likes!” He spat.

“Yet you keep the gift!” His brother accused.

“I am not going to waste food...” Evallan rebounded, fidgeting with the sweet-bun.

“I suppose you would not mind giving it to me, then?”

Evallan stared at his brother's sly smile and knowing eyes. He understood his attachment to the gift was being tested. He didn't want to hand it over- but neither did he want to seem as if it were important to keep.

After a long moment, he relinquished.

Taking the treat with a hefty sigh, Amrallan gave him a sympathetic look in exchange.

“You are so hopeless,” He pushed the sweet-bun into Evallan's hands. “Here- just have the stupid thing.”

Accepting, Evallan studied crisped dough, lost to its meaning.

“...You know, Eldest...” Amrallan tested, carefully respectful. “...Not all shem are cruel- some are even attractive, no?”

He was so startled he almost dropped the sweet-bun, face and neck burning.

“Why do you say such strange things, Amrallan!?” He dismissed in a snap.

Generally, it always went something like that.

_Wait...Amrallan looked more as I knew him._

_...The Blight is almost here, isn't it?_

The scenery morphed- perhaps the same city but certainly a different area. Now it was mostly elves crowding them- some sort of outside market hosted by the alienage. Amrallan was determinedly haggling with one of his city brethren- far more skilled than Evallan at trade, or anything that required social grace.

Since his assistance was not required, Evallan glanced around, absorbing the lively bustle amidst poverty. He mostly hated the alienage- it wasn't difficult to fathom why. In his mind they served the same function as a tower- imprisonment.

Somewhere in the cacophony a singular noise captured his focus.

A child was crying.

None of their own were present- and a child could have any reason to cry. Yet he was disturbed and Lightbringer echoed this;

_One of our own._

_You must find her._

Eyes tore through people. A sea of faces squabbled and jeered but all he heard was that persistent, terrified wail.

The clatter of a door attracted his gaze, glowering towards it-

A Templar yanking a small, flailing shape.

_She will not leave this city alive._

He darted, sweeping others aside, heading for the dilapidated house. Before crashing through the door he heard _'Eldest!_ ' from his brother but hardly processed.

In front of him loomed a mountain of plate, topped by a grim mouth and hateful eyes, gripping a small child's arm. Dorian recognised that watery-eyed, round face immediately.

_Fila?!_

Evallan of course didn't recognise her- this was their first meeting. What he did recognise was a flow of magic- even if that were not the case, he was hardly about to allow harm on a child.

“What do we have here?” The brute welcomed him with a scowl.

The Eldest Lavellan's response was to unleash his weapon, Lightbringer glowing fiercely.

Laughing, the man lurched to confront him and Fila scrambled into a corner, huddling beneath a table.

“You take a wrong turn, elf runt?” He drew his sword, the steel singing violence.

“ _I am no runt.”_ Evallan snarled, genuinely insulted.

“Waaaait...” Skirting around him, the Templar's eyes narrowed. “Aren't you one of those Dalish?”

“ _I am a free elf,”_ He growled, fists tight around Lightbringer. _“And a free mage.”_

Snickering, his opponent leant into a heel, preparing to swing.

“Let's hear you say that...when I free your head from your neck.”

Just then a bang resounded and Amrallan tumbled into the room, staff in hand.

“ _Eldest?!”_

“ _We must protect her- help me!”_

If his motives had not been so clear, Dorian would have almost felt sympathetic. The man had no wry comment at the pair's seamlessly unified assault; Amrallan was as adept utilising his staff up-close as at range, and Lightbringer's sear combined with Evallan's fury was impossible to deflect.

Violence rampaged through the little house like a tornado. In moments it was over, their target fallen, and Evallan tumbled for the cowering girl.

“Child...come here. No one will hurt you now.”

He was accustomed to the skittishness of scared, lost youth. It was surprising when she scurried from her blockade, instantly clinging to his leg. Amrallan chuckled and Evallan bundled her up, the trio exiting from an alley-door and quickly fleeing.

“Do you have a name?” He inquired lightly, trying to keep her at ease.

“My aunt called me Fila.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

She clung to him tighter and remained silent.

“I understand.” Sighing, Evallan patted her as they walked. “Do you have any other family?”

Fila shook her head, then buried it in his robes.

“Well, she does now!” Amrallan cheerfully intervened. “You will come with us- and we will keep you safe. You will have so many other children to play with, you have no idea!”

Hearing that inspired her to relax in his arms and Evallan shot Amrallan a grateful smile.

“Still...you know this is not how we are meant to do things.” His brother reproached near-inaudibly, not wanting their new charge to hear. “We should have waited for them to leave the city, then attempted to bargain...”

Evallan firmed his hold on the girl, echoing what Lightbringer had conveyed;

“She was not to leave the city. I saw his intent.”

“Ah...” He huffed, shaking his head solemnly. “You acted well then, but ah, Eldest...”

Fingers lightly grazed his back, bringing awareness to the leak he'd been ignoring.

“You are bleeding quite profusely.” Amrallan said in a hush, concern still evident.

“I know.” He exhaled, pushing forward. “It is fine. It is already stopping.”

“Still...perhaps we will wait for that to close before we return to camp and the Keeper berates you, yes?”

The vision faded. Dorian pondered.

_...You wanted me to see that specifically._

_Don't worry- I'll keep protecting her._

_Or rather...she and Titus will protect each other._

_I promise he's a sweet lad- just very stupid._

_But he'd never hurt a fly._

_And she means the world to him_

Sunny skies were replaced by smoke and flame. His clan-members ran one direction- Evallan sprinted in the opposite- towards the fire. His brothers yelled for him- begged for his return- but he had to save all he could.

Their camp was alight and gnarled shapes roamed the destruction, attacking all they saw. He managed to evade them for now, clambering beneath an aravel- knowing who would hide there.

“ _ELDEST!”_ Absolutely bawling, Fila's tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

“ _Stay on my back- hold tight!”_ Roaring, he exuded confidence despite his own internal screaming.

“ _There was someone with you- where?!”_

Through her sobs, Fila pointed at a wrecked aravel and Evallan charged. A bulky creature scrabbled at the wreckage- ripping it apart- childish shrieking from inside.

“ _GET AWAY!”_

Monstrous teeth bared at him and Evallan smacked them with Lightbringer, fuelling himself with horror and disgust and rage.

“ _GET AWAY- GET AWAY- GET AWAY!”_

He continued lashing- at some point he became aware the creature was dead.

“Da'len...da'len...?” Calling weakly- afraid there would be no response.

A tiny figure whirled for him, grasping his legs with a cry-

“ _Eldest!”_

“M-my hand-” He had to fight the stammer from his voice, grabbing the child. “Hold onto it- run with me. Do not stop running- not for anything.”

With one child on his back, another holding his arm and his dominant hand wielding Lightbringer, Evallan could be no help to others. The singular option left was to retreat- finally traversing the destruction in search of his brothers.

Amrallan found him swiftly- at the edge of an inferno.

“ _Eld-!”_

The Eldest Lavellan deposited his burden, commanding-

“ _Take them and go!”_

“Wha- _where are you going?!”_

“ _There are others!”_

He made to swivel away and was yanked by his robes-

“Eldest- no-” An uncharacteristic tone from Amrallan- absolute seriousness. “If you go back you will not return- we cannot beat them together- _you_ cannot beat them alone!”

Evallan freed himself, near-crazed in his resolve;

“ _I will return!- I can save them- leave me, Amrallan!”_

Hands clasped his shoulders, spinning him around, eyes as cool as his emanating an authority they rarely sought to possess-

“ _BROTHER- NO!”_ Amrallan jostled him, dictating grimly. _“IF WE LOSE YOU WE HAVE LOST EVERYTHING- DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!?”_

Evallan teetered. Below him Fila grasped for his hand, weeping.

“Eldest- please...”

He could not deny them.

Fleeing from Darkspawn. Camping erratically in their efforts to avoid more death. Elders bickering- always bickering.

Staring at a glimmering sky, regarding Thedas' twin moons, looming like sentinels.

Wishing he were something else. An animal. A wolf. Craving to howl his grief and shred through the wilds, snapping throats, embodying cold. Wolves know how to mourn- Evallan didn't.

Amrallan found him at the edge of camp, battling emotion.

“Brother..” He approached gently. Quiet and comforting, he simply stood there until Evallan remembered speech.

“I failed them.” He gasped. “I am their Eldest and I failed them.”

“You did not fail them.” Amrallan assured, projecting complete certainty. “You did everything you could have done.”

“You are wrong,” Evallan hiccupped, hot tears stung his lids. “I could have gone back.”

Amrallan squeezed his shoulder.

“And then you would have been lost with them.”

“N-no-I could have-” Another hiccup, he felt like his insides were crumbling. _“I could have saved them and you would not let me!”_

His brother viewed him with an odd and tragic expression for his face- painfully sober, flat.

“You would have died with them, Evallan.”

Moisture broke through the dam of his eyes, cascading down Evallan's cheeks. He quivered fitfully, choked on snot.

“ _Have you no faith in me?!_ I could have!- I could have- I could-”

Arms threw themselves over him, Amrallan embracing protectively, shushing him.

“You did everything you could have done.”

He fractured, sobbing wildly, tugging angrily at his brother's cloak.

“ _But I could do nothing!_ I could do nothing!- They- they cried for me and _I could do nothing!_ You should not have stopped me- _why did you stop me?!”_

Exhausted by turmoil, he fell asleep in his brother's arms and tried to forget something inside was broken.

Hence came the split of the Lavellan Clan and Evallan's inheritance of the First's circlet. Though he'd tried in his own small way to convince their previous First not to separate- out of anyone else's sight, when they were about to depart.

“Atvin.”

The group of Elders faced him and Evallan fidgeted- though he was as tall as many of them by now, he felt miniscule.

“You should not leave on your own.” He beseeched simply, solidly. “You should come with us to the Circle.”

They snickered among themselves. Atvin's tired mouth curved in bemusement.

“I do not mean to offend you, boy...” Yet his tone was hardly diplomatic. “...but your mother is a fool- and you? Mad. If it were not for Amrallan, your remains would sit in a Darkspawn belly.”

Rage and misery gathered in Evallan's throat. He swallowed it down, glowering icily at the man.

“You are wrong.” He seethed, a dormant geyser. “I could have killed them all. I could have saved them.”

This was received by an uproar of mirth, Atvin cackling as he strode from him.

“Hold onto that blind faith of yours, _young_ Lavellan. You will need it.”

Stunned in fury and despair, Evallan marched away, grinding teeth against sobs, closing eyes against tears. As is typical in these situations, he only thought of what to say minutes later, with Atvin long gone.

_Say all you like- but you are just a coward!_

_And I am_ still _the Eldest Lavellan!_

Anguish permeated the youth's being like venom. Dorian was unsure how much he could stomach- the input of turmoil and adrenaline was profuse, merciless. Dorian barely had enough strength in himself to carry his own grief- now he carried enough for two.

_Please tell me...there's a point to all this._

The scene that unravelled baffled him. Peering up a stone threshold, upon which a flock of mages argued- Evallan's mother in their midst, silent as a tree.

_Wait...isn't that...Alexius' voice?_

Yes- Alexius howling about the Dalish- that stone threshold, clearly the tower entrance.

_Oh no._

_Can we skip this?_

_It's terribly embarrassing..._

_...for him_ and _me._

A sense of being observed irritated Evallan. Discomforted, he hunted the culprit.

_Lightbringer!_

_This is a bit_ rude _, don't you think?!_

He met Dorian's gaze for the first time.

Dorian reviewed the moment for himself in a flash- the Eldest Lavellan's stare had been so hard, he remembered thinking-

_'I''ve met warmer Tranquil!'_

Yet now, ice found steel across a crowded yard and Evallan's lungs seized, air trapped in his throat.

_Maker, Evallan! Really?!_

_Even then?!_

Warmth touched Evallan's cheeks. He realised he was staring. His gaze sharpened and the shem scuttled away, visibly bashful.

Both Dorian and Evallan, present and past, internally floundered at the occurrence.

_I- I don't understand?!_

_If you_ liked _me, why did you_ hit _me?!_

“That Tevinter is quite handsome, is he not, Eldest?”

_WHAT?!?!?!_

Evallan reflected his distress- however Dorian was so intent on his own thoughts he hardly registered the exchange.

_Andraste have mercy! Why couldn't..._

_Why couldn't either of you speak plainly?!_

_I suppose Amrallan tried- in his way._

_Maker's breath...he really_ was _afraid of you being alone, wasn't he?_

_And I told him I'd keep an eye on you!_

_Damn you and damn myself-_

_I should have tried harder to make you speak to me!_

He listed regrets and the scene progressed- watching his own face, both smug and indignant, acting like he knew every-bloody-thing about every-bloody-thing!

_Why couldn't I have just shut up for once?!_

_You'd just lost everything-_ everything _!_

_I had no idea, damn it._

_I had no idea._

For all these regrets, it wasn't outrage or annoyance that invigorated Evallan's fist.

The more this shem spoke, the more Evallan found his reasoning to be sound, compassionate, reflective of someone not defending themselves- someone thinking of others. The more he found the cadence of his speech pleasing, the more he knew if this interaction continued, he might feel compelled to laugh or smile.

At the tail-end of so much death and their survivors watching him...Evallan knew he could not afford any of these things.

Dorian heard his panicked, juvenile thoughts-

_I- I need him to stop talking._

_Mythal help me, I need him to stop talking._

Another remembrance sprouted in Dorian's mind- the night after Evallan's Harrowing. What had he said?

_'I did not know how else to make you stop talking.'_

He'd taken it as an insult at the time- asked if he was annoying.

All Evallan had said was a firm _'no'._

Dorian saw now what he meant. So consumed by anxiety- it was as if he'd blinked and his fist materialised at the boy's jaw. Beside him, Amrallan looked on in a mix of wonderment and exasperation. The brothers exchanged contrasting expressions- amusement and hysteria- then were mobbed by fellow youths.

None of the Tevinter refugees had the Lavellan brothers' fighting expertise- they were beaten back shortly. In the mania Evallan found himself instead weaving passed Templars twice his girth- if they were not also twice his height.

“ _Eldest Brother Lavellan!”_

Dorian recalled this part- his mother's voice, stilling the chaos.

Evallan tossed Lightbringer at his feet and this time, Dorian understood the gesture.

_He never raised Lightbringer- only his fists._

_'I shame myself'- that's what he meant._

It was there, kneeling in shame and dust, that Dorian's Birthright winked at him. Evallan had been honest in his confession- the object was a mystery at first and once unveiled, his feelings were too complicated. He lacked courage to address them. That would not change for years.

Brief moments flashed by- Dorian drunkenly approaching their aravel, leaving Evallan dumbstruck and embarrassed. Catching sight of the shem- creeping around the aravel. Pretending not to see, imagining to sing for him- skulking upon him as he slept to wrap him in furs.

_Wait...that was yours?_

Now it was Dorian left dumbstruck and embarrassed.

_...I always thought it was Amrallan who saw me, blast it all._

_Damn it Evallan- you've_ seen _my blanket-_ your _blanket!_

_You could have said something?!_

He tilted between angered and flattered, unable to decide. Life moved too quickly to dwell.

Holding the Tevinter port. Battlefields drenched in frost. Evallan's mother sacrificed to her own spell, Amrallan trapped in his. Navigating the world like a ghoul, detaching himself so he could fulfil his duties.

Arguing with the Senior Mages within the Ferelden Tower.

“It should be me. You know it should be me.”

“Ask any of the Wardens, Templars, mages- ask any of them.”

“If you want to hold Tevinter...you cannot do it without me.”

Trying to explain to Villyen in the dingy, temporary quarters they'd been offered.

“You are leaving me?! How could you leave me?!”

“I cannot risk you, da'len. You are our First. One of us must stay.”

“But I fight really well!- Even better than some of the adults! You know I do!”

“I know that, Villyen. You are very strong- and very brave. I know.”

He was sobbing at this point, wailing, exuding abandonment and despair-

“You said I kept you alive! I can keep doing that- I can keep helping you!”

“I need you here, Villyen- you must...we must all set an example for our people, do you understand?”

The child beheld him with icy eyes gushing, voice in a broken squeak.

“Amrallan would not leave me behind. He would not abandon me.”

Grief punctured Evallan's armour for the first time in months.

Wordlessly, he escaped that dreadful little room and ran out into the garden.

Where Dorian would find him, weeping by the pond.

Their conversation hardly processed for him this time- something else captured his whole attention.

All those years ago- he'd thought Evallan was praying, the way he knelt...

_You weren't praying._

_You were holding my amulet._

It soothed him- comforted him- he loathed it- treasured it- he had to give it back- he never would- it was everything he had left- it was nothing.

Hiding the Birthright against his chest, asking Dorian to leave- politely as he could while dread and anguish and _longing_ terrorised him.

_I am sorry, Dorian Pavus._

_This..._

_This is all I have._

_Perhaps someday, I will..._

Flames erupted around them and a Darkspawn-littered battlefield arose. Evallan fought on the parapets, a wild, ever-moving flurry of blood and winter. He'd been crippled somewhat- one hand occupied, pressing closed a vicious tear in his abdomen.

Retreat had sounded but he could do no such thing-

not while the Birthright of Dorian Pavus lay somewhere in this mess.

_This must have been when he had to fix the chain._

_...I don't think I want to see this._

He was fervent- moving like a rabid animal, mindless, unyielding.

“ _LAVELLAN!”_ That thunder- Marcus Rorick. _“THEY SAID_ _ **RETREAT!!**_ _”_

A Templar gauntlet yanked for him and he struck out, snarling.

“ _BECAUSE ALL YOU SHEM ARE COWARDS!”_ He stormed the mob, holding his bloody entrails in place. _**“I TAKE THIS FORT OR I DIE IN IT!”**_

_I cannot lose it here._

_I cannot._

_I would rather die._

_I would rather die than shame him again._

Somehow through will and the determination of those foolish enough to join, the tide turned.

It was a blur. So much a blur of violence. Drooling teeth. Screams of anguish and triumph and cruelty.

He collapsed with the slain and lay there...he couldn't say how long.

When Evallan awoke, the battle was done for everyone but him.

_Ma vhenan._

The phrase lurched through his mind, dragging himself upwards, delirious and in so, so much pain. There was nothing left of him.

_Ma vhenan..._

_My heart. My soul._

There was one thing left of him.

Tripping through corpses, yanking them aside desperately, never seeing the flash of gold he sought.

Dorian struggled from within, beseeched-

_Lightbringer! Stop it!_

_I don't need to see this!_

_Have some bloody mercy!_

None was granted to him or Evallan- crumpling to the putrid ground with a whimper.

_Ma vhenan._

_Please, I..._

Hands floundered until gripping Lightbringer, he placed it upon the ground with a sob.

_Lightbringer...if you see it..._

_If you know where it is..._

_I plead with you to show me._

He knelt there, weeping hysterically until she answered.

A puff of green veilfire at a distance, fluttering with purpose.

He ran before even remembering he had legs that moved. Veilfire hovered above a layer of corpses and he dug through them, crying fitfully.

_Please. Please. Please._

Hands grasped cool metal- a shattered chain. He cried harder, hiccupped, cackled, embraced the Birthright to his chest.

_Ma vhenan!_

_My heart. My soul._

It took a long while for Evallan to gather his wits. Then he wrapped the chain around his hand, clutched for dear life, and limped towards the fort.

On his approach a spotlight craned towards his face, projected flames wavering against tired eyes. One of the more useful fixtures from these Tevinter forts- not that he blessed their existence currently.

“ _Lavellan!”_ Marcus Rorick again. _“Where the fuck have you been?! We thought you were fucking dead!”_

Struggling to view the Templar through exhaustion, Evallan missed the note of concern in an otherwise enraged voice, or the relief and anxiety in his eyes.

All he perceived was the fool who nearly cost him his soul.

So all he said was-

“ _Eat shit and die, Templar.”_

Baffled and indignant, Marcus hollered while throwing his gauntlet.

“ _Fuck you, Lavellan!”_

This was the first time their altercations became physical- and he was so weary- it smacked Evallan in the face, split his lip in two.

Dorian noted with a sickened feeling that he knew exactly which scar would form.

Speaking through blood and nausea, Evallan said frostily-

“Shemlen pig.” And trudged onwards.

“ _Knife-ear bitch!”_

_He...he probably doesn't really remember this, does he?!_

It was almost tragic. Even in his absence- Dorian had stood between them.

Drifting through hallways still stained red, Evallan slipped into the armoury with its adjacent forge. Closing the door, he sat alone and hyperventilated over shattered chain-links.

Dorian wondered if he wept in the real world- certainly here, his consciousness howled.

_It's just an amulet, you sentimental fool!_

_It wasn't worth all that!_

_It's not worth this!_

Evallan pondered- this chain was delicate, he would lose it again unless properly reinforced.

There was only one material he trusted.

Before acting he placed Lightbringer on the stone and prayed.

_If I should not do this._

_If it is an insult, or an affront._

_Please- stop me._

No sign appeared. No voices. No veilfire. No sense of insult or refusal.

That was all he had to rely on.

Evallan set to his task, fighting tears the whole time.

First he utilised forge tools, shaving pieces from Lightbringer, shaky hands struggling with delicate work.

Next he formed them into links, using moulds intended for chain-mail, then bent and carved with pliers to fine out their shape.

Progress was messy- he hadn't visited a healer and felt no immediate need, so bled over everything. It dripped into heating metal, lathered the chain, splattered the amulet. He was oblivious- repairing, securing- it was all that mattered.

Eventually he finished, amulet around neck, spent. Huddled in a corner, he slept with no tears remaining. With nothing left.

Except one thing.

_Evallan...it wasn't worth..._

_...you could have just..._

_...I would have understood._

Morning light filtered into the armoury, a gruff voice-

“Get the fuck up, Lavellan. You didn't even clean up- _you smell of fucking death!”_

Blearily he perceived Marcus' looming over him, stated on reflex-

“ _Eat shit and die, Templar.”_

Glaring, Marcus kicked an armour-stand.

“Fuck you, Lavellan.”

So began their ongoing feud. Initially it was juvenile- Evallan's food was poisoned somehow, he fought the whole day containing nausea and vertigo. On their return he separated from the group and dived behind a tree, immediately hurling everything held by his stomach.

Gagging, spluttering and crying- he heard steps approach.

“Go away.” He coughed.

“Here.” A small hand appeared, offering a flask. “Remedy I keep around, just in case I prick myself with my own arrows- like a dumbshit.”

Unfurling, he spied a dwarven woman in Warden garb- hadn't they met?

_Fletch!_

_They really have been friends a long time, haven't they?_

Gingerly, he accepted the potion while she joked.

“'Course you don't need arrows to get yourself poisoned, apparently...you manage it on spite alone!”

“What do you want?” Evallan frowned. “Why do you help me?”

“Well...” She tapped her chin, cheerful in demeanour. “I've been keeping an eye on you since- well, since you ended up here...I'm thinking you could use a friend- you're definitely not great at making them!”

Evallan snorted- though was privately amused and grateful.

“And you think you would be a good friend to me?”

“Why not?” She snickered. “You're surrounded with enough tall people and magic bullshit! Way I see it...you need someone to keep you down here, where it makes sense- that makes sense?”

He rolled his eyes at the time- but there was no denying it.

She had been a good friend to him.

It became usual for them to travel together. On once occasion they lazed within an Orlesian tavern- Dorian identified by the typical style of dress and which language domineered. Evallan dined, savouring a rare fresh meal- for all it's flaws, Orlais skirted by on wealth alone.

Other recruits drank, Fletch joked, Marcus complained...

A drink was slid beneath Evallan's nose.

“-and this for you, messere, from the lady at the far table.”

He beheld it stupidly

“Fucking figures!” Marcus sneered behind his mug. “Girls see the long hair and the tattoos- they're all over it.”

“ _Pfft!”_ Fletch cut in defensively. “What do _you_ know about what girls like, nugshit-for-brains? I don't see a lot of girl Templars, huh!”

Evallan continued to sit dumbly, embarrassment building.

“Like _you_ know!” The Templar bit back. “That's an _Orlesian lady_ \- not some dwarf runt! The fuck would _you_ know about that?!”

Sighing intolerably, Evallan lowered his face into his hand.

“It's probably the fucking circlet, too,” Marcus theorised, still irate. “They see it and they think _'oooh he's so young to be so important!'”_

“That's how you reckon women think?!” Fletch guffawed.

Lowering his hand, Evallan shot daggers at the Templar. By Dorian's estimate this couldn't be too long after mending his Birthright- though Marcus' bore more scars, he hadn't aged much.

“ _Shut. Up.”_ He dictated severely, then beseeched the serving girl. “Miss- please?”

Struggling in half-formed Orlesian, Evallan departed from what little coin he had;

“Toss the drink and return the payment to the lady- please.”

It was just coherent enough to be understood. He slouched over his half-finished meal with an exhale, appetite diminished.

“You're so boring, Lavellan!” Fletch ribbed. “You didn't even look!”

“You could have given one of us the fucking drink.”

Evallan forced a bite of food so he wouldn't have to speak. Marcus ignored this cue, bantering;

“Aren't you getting restless? On the road all the time- just killing fucking Darkspawn all day?”

He shoved another mouthful passed his lips, chewing furiously. Fletch came to his defence with humour, as she always did-

“Lavellan only has eyes for _me_ \- duh!” She sighed dramatically, wistfully. “He's my _girlfriend_ \- everyone knows it!”

“Yeah, right!” Snorted Marcus. “I don't even...want to fucking think what that would look like-”

“ _Who's asking you to think about it?!”_ An explosion of mocking laughter.

“ _I said I'm not!”_ He banged his fist on the table, huffing. “I don't think Lavellan even likes women.”

“I do not like anything.” Evallan muttered between gnashes.

The Templar observed him pensively, seemed to decide on something-

“You know...the scribe we work with- Derek something- I see him eye you a lot. Could introduce you.”

Choking on food, Evallan's palm slapped the table.

“ _Did you not hear me?!”_ He spat, beyond outraged, standing. _“I said I do not like anything!”_

Retreating, he caught bits of speech-

“ _Maker- what a void-damned baby!”_

“ _I told you!”_ Smacks of dramatic movement from Fletch. “He's only got eyes for _me!”_

Someone was instructing her not to stand on furniture and Evallan hastened outside. Swarmed by countless lights from the Orlesian cityscape, he stood lost, amulet burning a hole through his chest.

_Amrallan...asked me to keep an eye on you._

_Maybe...if I'd told you that...?_

_Oh, I don't know...but..._

_You didn't have to be alone, Evallan._

_You could have reached out to me._

Perspective shuffled into a new, confusing angle. Instead of seeing through Evallan's vision he was watching him mow through Darkspawn on a great, bloody battlefield. Yet there was an odd texture- as if separated by glass?

It took Dorian a moment but gradually he recognised that sheen- Lightbringer's shield, her barrier within the Fade- granted it was shattered upon his visit.

 _So Evallan is dreaming...and I'm looking through_ your _eyes?_

Her oblivious wielder sliced and cast- absorbed in dreams of death. Lightbringer's sanctum was veiled from his- perhaps incapable of reaching through the violence of his nightmares.

_But this has to be relevant somehow, no...?_

_Everything I've seen thus far seems to...define him in some way._

_What could happen in his sleep...?_

A new source of light warmed her back, illuminating the spirit's crystal home. Lightbringer turned to witness a circle inscribed in open air, fizzling magic, displaying her rune.

_Why does...that look familiar...?_

Extending, fingertips brushed the surface and pieces appeared to shed, revealing another dream as if through a window.

Within that dream- Dorian cowering behind a spire, surrounded by clumsy summoning circles-all _'Faith'_ at varied stages of legibility. Creeping for him were the trio of demonic Lavellans- all with their imitative blades.

_Wait!_

_How?!_

He felt Lightbringer's distaste- scrunching her face up sourly- or whatever she had similar to a face. Hand stretching, a flare of energy summoned an object into her hand-

A chain, strung together by pieces of fine gold and crude silverite.

_Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-_

_wait a second!_

Nothing would slow on his accord. Detaching a link, Lightbringer hurled this fragment through the portal. Landing at the feet of a younger, terrified Dorian, it materialised into a distinct figure- celestial blade in hand.

The moment repeated in his mind with total clarity- a vision of Evallan, obliterating demons with an aggravated-

“ _How repulsive.”_

Dorian floundered to wrap his head around the scene.

_When he fixed my Birthright- he used a piece of you- of himself._

_It was almost ritualistic- he asked permission,_

_accidentally involved his blood..._

_It formed a link between us._

_So you heard me...and answered- with a piece._

So what of that piece once accomplishing its goal? Traversing dreams is not easily done backwards. While the young Dorian panicked, about to wake, Evallan's copy shrank to a single dot of light- embedding itself into his chest.

_That's how...I was able to summon you-_

_how I'm able to walk his dream._

_Evallan connected us long ago- he doesn't even know it!_

_I reinforced that connection through my Harrowing! And..._

_And_ wait _! This means!-_

 _His_ name _!- I didn't trick anyone, or steal anything!_

 _It was given in_ exchange _\- for the amulet!_

Clueless to his own machinations, Evallan stormed through a decade that battered him like hail. Immune to any cold- he was always colder.

_But you're not cold- not really._

_You're_ making _yourself that way- and..._

_...it's selfish of me, but I wish you'd stayed at the tower._

Their comrades fell, they underwent loss and victory in a profuse cycle. Eventually of the original Templar-mage alliance only Evallan and Marcus remained. The past commander laid to rest, unsurprising news was received.

Evallan must have made a face- though hadn't meant to.

“There a problem, Lavellan?” Marcus glowered. Years had evened them in height but Evallan would still regard him as if beneath his nose.

Rising to this challenge, the Keeper muttered;

“There are more capable men here. Better suited to command.”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus arched a brow, tickled. “And who would that be?”

Evallan replied with a firm glare, embodying winter in his very depths.

Offence and then unrestrained amusement shifted over the shem's visage.

“You?! Don't make me fucking laugh!” He did laugh- uproariously. “You're practically an animal- and on top of that, a mage.”

Silent as the grave, all Evallan did was harden his stare.

Marcus regarded him calculatingly.

“Is there going to be a problem here, Lavellan?”

“Not as long as I am satisfied by your command.”

Which of course- he rarely was. When Marcus wished to press on, Evallan demanded they retreat. When Evallan thought they should keep going, Marcus argued they stop. Not to mention Evallan's annoyance at the man's penchant for gathering clutter- in the form of pointless relics. It all coalesced with the usage of Grey Wardens as bait and diversion- Evallan could never hold, could never wait.

His place was amidst the chaos- despite any reprimand. Of which there were many- mostly shouts, sometimes fists if Evallan was too persistent in his arguments.

Sometimes Evallan punched first.

Sometimes he just wanted the blasted Templar to shut up.

To stop spitting in his face.

To stop regarding him like a rabid animal.

_You're not an animal, Evallan._

_You're a person._

_You let them make you forget._

_Was it less painful that way...?_

_I just...I don't see how it could have been._

In one instance Marcus marched from him, screaming profanities. Evallan trudged alongside Fletch, trading brief quips- only to be interrupted by a thunderous roar, plumes of green fire.

_I- I know what that is._

Dorian had been in the presence of the Archdemon just once- that was all he needed. There was no other creature like it; no dragon as large or corrupted, no fire as noxious or deadly.

Fire that collided now with Evallan's magical shield, tearing into it, shredding his neck apart.

 _I know_ that _scar, too..._

It would be hard not to- being the most prominent. Dorian had jested- hadn't he?

_'You fought a bear and won, I see?'_

He felt ridiculous for that now, experiencing life drain from him as Evallan did, confronting his mortality with fatigue and acceptance.

Yet he awoke in a bunk, neck wrapped and knowing Lightbringer had preserved him- by some miracle, as she always strived.

“ _There_ he is! Still alive, buddy!?”

He blinked at the welcome.

“Fletch...what happened?” Everything was a splatter in his mind.

“Archdemon swooped on us- took a cheap shot.” She sighed, placed a flask into his weak hands. “Seemed to know exactly who it wanted to hit...if you'd been slower with Lightbringer...there'd probably be nothing left for her to bring back.”

Slowly- Evallan understood.

_Have you seen me, demon?_

_I have seen you._

“Another man would've bled out right there...You're real lucky, Lavellan!- Or that's what I'd be saying, if that thing didn't have it out for you.”

Other considerations leaked into his mind and he groaned.

“Marcus will blame me- for disobeying his order.”

“Yeah, well...he's already got some plan he thinks will balance things out.”

Something else that became a point of conflict- there were rumours of a Tevinter device hidden in the catacombs, with the ability to draw demonic forces. Marcus hoped to retrieve and utilise this enchantment on the Archdemon- Evallan had doubts.

“You have no proof it will work against Darkspawn- let alone the Archdemon.”

“Yeah? That's why we're hunting it down- to _test_ it.”

“You will expend people and resources to collect trinkets? Have we not enough of them? Have we found anything of worth on _any_ of these escapades?”

“We're just taking a few Templars and mages- Wardens won't have to lift a finger.”

“We are not exactly blessed with an abundance of mages.”

“Aren't you meant to be worth a whole clan?! What's it to you?!”

There was no convincing Marcus- it was a risk and a waste but the commander was a bloodhound at his core. If he scented something of interest, he had to chase. Where he chased, Evallan was fated to trail after- as much as it disgruntled him.

Dorian had journeyed the catacombs few times himself- they weren't the place for noble youth, even one as rebellious as him. Whether or not the unending darkness, stink of rot and walls of bone were somehow different than a decade ago, he really couldn't say.

Darkspawn were in smaller numbers than one might think- they had full run of Tevinter's surface, after all. Undead mostly roamed about- or the occasional demon. Nothing concerning at first- but the more they ascended, the greater a feeling of oppression weighed on Evallan.

“There is something not right- we should turn back.”

“We've been down here hours.” Marcus grunted. “We're not turning the fuck back now.”

No option given, Evallan pressed on, clinging to Lightbringer in preparation.

Narrow paths brought them to a sealed entrance- intricately-decorated stone, inscribed with runes of possession and destruction- of warning.

“This does not bode well...” Evallan echoed that warning.

“It's just a magical seal- we're Templars, remember?” Rolling his eyes, Marcus shoved passed, inspecting.

“It means to rebound on those who tamper with it incorrectly...”

“Then I'll only tamper with it _real_ correctly. Would you stop nagging for once?!” Toying with the mechanism, he sneered. “Like being followed around by an old blighting woman.”

He continued fiddling. Crimson sparks livened the door's edges and Evallan leaned back, apprehensive. Indiscernible whispers hissed through his mind- Lightbringer swiftly obstructed him from them, encasing him in wards.

“Commander- we must leave!” He urged, glancing either side. The accompanying mages hadn't his level of defence- already they trembled, complexion greening.

“What are you yelling about now?” Marcus spun to sight them- likely viewing Evallan scrambling with fumbled Dalish, attempting to stretch Lightbringer's protection.

To no avail. Corrupt flames burst around the afflicted mages. Whirling back, all Evallan could do was swipe his weapon madly as human flesh bubbled into grotesque forms- but they practically ignored him. A rush of deadly movement overran the Templars and it turned into a mania of limbs and weapons, ending with Evallan yanking Marcus from the tangle.

“ _WILL YOU RUN NOW, YOU FOOL?!”_ He admonished in a shriek.

Running was all they could do, even if Marcus wished otherwise. Their disruptions had rattled the undead and they slithered from every crevice, howling and clawing.

“ _LAVELLAN!”_

“ _I KNOW!”_ There was a single hope of escape.

Hesitating, Evallan shook the Templar, demanding-

“ _DO NOT LEAVE ME HERE- DO YOU UNDERSTAND!? EVEN IF I AM DEAD!”_

“ _I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU- YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”_ Marcus roared back. _“JUST DO THE DAMN THING!”_

Honing all his will- Lightbringer's will- he dragged the Templar within his sphere of insulation and unleashed a blizzard. Evallan witnessed the storm for just a second- and fell.

_...Didn't you tell Titus this story?_

_Though you embellished a little, I see._

_This isn't a thaig- we're in the catacombs._

Dorian couldn't fault him for avoiding specifics, or describing in a fashion that misled. To relive such things must feel tiresome- or he'd considered it a mercy, avoiding mentions of Tevinter.

Evallan thought he'd open his eyes to a tent- but he was lying in the dirt.

Above him, Marcus and several other Templars scrutinised. Beyond them, Wardens muttered uncomfortably.

Spitting dust, he stood on wobbly knees and frowned until someone explained- Marcus;

“Why didn't they attack you?”

An impatient accusation- one that left Evallan befuddled.

“ _...What?”_

“You were talking to them...” The Templar ground out. “They turned...then looked away from you- and attacked _us_.”

“I-I do not know,” He had difficulty comprehending- why was _he_ on trial now? “My wards, perhaps- or they saw you threatened their seal.”

Marcus squinted in disbelief, suspicion bunching his scars,

“Your ward worked for you- but not anyone around you?”

“Would explaining the technical function of each ward absolve me of whatever you are accusing me of?”

“ _You know fucking well what I'm accusing you of!”_

Somehow, _he'd_ orchestrated that mayhem. Somehow, _he_ was to blame.

The implication was like bile in Evallan's stomach. His innards rebelled . His face twitched and he could not stop it, could not imagine what sort of wild expression he fixed upon the Templar.

“ _I did not even want to venture into that cursed place!”_ He screamed, tilting closer _“It was YOUR fool notion to chase after rumours when we should hunt the Archdemon!”_

Of course, Marcus was commander- if only in name, as far as Evallan was concerned- he had no reason to back from this challenge.

“ _That fucking thing ambushed us because YOU couldn't keep your shit together!”_ A gauntlet jabbed into his chest. _“Excuse ME for wanting some fucking assurance for next time!”_

The Keeper was blinded by rage- flecks of spittle told him Marcus roared in his face but all Evallan saw was red.

Why was he asked to submit to this fool?

Because he was human? Because he lacked magic?

Was that not just two _more_ reasons he should step out of the blasted way?!

“ _Assurance of what?!”_ He leaned forward, smashed his hand into the Templar's breastplate. _“That you are an ignorant AND_ _an incompetent on top of that?!”_

“ _Watch it, Lavellan-!”_

“ _YOU watch it, TEMPLAR!”_ He smashed again, howled his outrage. _“We lost every mage on that expedition due to YOUR poor judgement! Now you seek to blame ME?! You are an IDIOT! Unfit for command! It is a DISGRACE to everyone present that YOU are the one we follow!”_

A fist collided with the side of his head and he reacted instantly, throwing one in exchange. Hands sought to subdue him and he elbowed and kicked, tasted blood not his own.

Marcus charged again and he leapt, bodily smacking into a living fortress. What the coward shem probably didn't expect was for Evallan to latch to his armour, jaw embedded around his cheek, snarling like a crazed wolf.

He'd been aiming for his jugular- this would have to do.

Blood splattered between them and the Templar whirled, screaming and smacking his deranged attacker upside the head.

Evallan felt not a single blow. He clenched his jaw.

“ _WE'RE FUCKING BITING NOW?! WE'RE SERIOUSLY FUCKING BITING?! GET THE FUCK OFF ME, LAVELLAN!”_

_NO._

_YOU ARE NOT WORTH MY WILL._

_YOU ARE NOT WORTH MY WEAPON._

_YOU ARE NOT EVEN WORTH MY FISTS!_

Bodies rammed into them like a wave, Marcus shrieked as Evallan was finally dislodged. Blearily he glimpsed grey-and-blue but hardly cared who pinned him. Drooling spilt blood and seizing manically, he tried to free himself.

“ _GET OFF ME! I WILL BITE OUT HIS THROAT! WHAT WILL YOU ACCUSE ME OF THEN, SHEMLEN PIG?!”_

More weight burdened him- people cursing as they wrangled his arms against the ground. Screaming and struggling, he would not yield.

“ _I SAID UNHAND ME- DAMN YOU!”_

“ _Stop it, Lavellan!”_ Lance's aged features frowning down at him. “Calm the fuck down- he's still your commander!”

In that moment he could only regard the shem with absolute hatred, salivating as he howled and tensed against the hands restraining him.

“ _THE DREAD WOLF TAKE YOU! THE DREAD WOLF TAKE ALL OF YOU! HALF OF YOU WOULD NOT LIVE IF IT WERE NOT FOR MY BLOOD!”_

Without using his magic- which he was inherently disciplined against- Evallan was no match for a crew of Wardens sitting on him. Gradually his stamina drained and they awkwardly removed themselves, leaving him to slink shamefully to his tent, white robes stained red.

_You just...couldn't take it anymore._

_I'm so sorry, Evallan._

_I should have been with you._

After some time, Fletch entered, sighing.

“Well, uh...that was entertaining.”

Evallan brooded at his scarlet-spattered boots, wordless.

Fletch paced, explaining in sympathetic tones;

“They're talking about sending you off for a...Harrowing- or whatever? Apparently this'll prove to them you're okay, or something...”

“It is a waste of time.” He muttered. “The seal did not corrupt me because it simply could not. They did not attack me because the Templars threatened their seal more than I.”

“Yeah, well...” She shrugged, viewing him sullenly. “It'll put your people at ease- especially after that whole show...so that's what's happening.”

Evallan lowered his face into his hands, hiding there.

“Hey...” Fletch coaxed. “Better not do anything stupid while you're away, got it? We need you out here!”

Meeting her gaze, he firmed his expression- meaning to inspire confidence.

“I will return to the battlefield as soon as they allow- I swear it.”

_So you were sent back to the tower..._

_...and I finally saw you again._

_After so long. After all of that..._

_I wish I'd been less..._

_Maker, I was such a fool._

Lines of text across a worn page yet he read not a word- Evallan waited. The previous night, Marcus had asked-

“ _You know someone called Dorian Pavus?”_

A name that obliterated all intelligent thought from his mind. He'd managed a non-committal grunt as it was conveyed to him- Dorian would be his tutor.

Sleep had been difficult already- then impossible as he lay wondering if this were some twist of fate, if the Gods laughed at his circumstance.

Arriving early, he rifled through books, unseeing, continuing to wonder.

_You were more nervous than I was..._

_You looked so calm, standing there with that book..._

Yet as coolly as Dorian had been greeted, inside Evallan's chest his heart thrummed, outside his skin burned where the amulet pressed.

_He is even more handsome now._

Evallan thought dumbly while a hand extended towards him.

_He must think me a savage._

Dorian was stung by this insecurity, disbelieving-

_No- I never thought anything like that._

_I respected you._

_I still do- perhaps more-so!_

Staring at that hand- trying to decide what to do with it- fingers began drawing away and Evallan reached out- just needing to graze its heat.

“Your hand is warm.” Dorian observed.

Feeling somehow exposed, he uttered-

“ _What?”_ and knew he must have seemed ridiculous, judging by how the man hastened to explain himself.

 _No-_ I _was ridiculous._

_It was a ridiculous thing to say!_

Together they studied. Alone, Evallan agonised. Beneath their exchanges the Birthright seared him with guilt.

Sometimes Dorian spoke and he couldn't hear over the shame.

He lost count of the lies told to elude his feelings.

To avoid conversations he simply didn't know how to have.

Then- Dorian repeated his name.

A name Evallan hadn't heard in a decade.

In three syllables he was made transparent- yet solidified.

Not a symbol- but a person- who could be seen.

Initially he rejected the sensation- lashing out, yelling insults he didn't mean- though wished he did. Everything would be simpler, if he did.

Ultimately, after hours of confused sulking, Evallan concluded he was being juvenile.

_He is just trying to help me..._

_Wherever he heard it...it does not matter._

_It startled me- that is all._

_I...I quite like how he says it- though he should not..._

In the current time and reviewing all this, Dorian was both mortified and stunned.

_You...like how I say it...?_

_Is that why you never stopped me...?_

Horror increased as he was treated to flashes of Evallan's Harrowing; a sly figment of himself, confounding the mage with shame that was as much his anchor as it was dead-weight.

'Amrallan' snapping him to his senses. Tearing through the dream, finally emerging to Templars surrounding him. A night of poking and prodding before-

Stealing a fervent kiss from Dorian.

Pretending not to recall- reliving it often.

Craving the peace and warmth of their table at the library, bouncing against Marcus' armour day after day.

Dorian flattering him with his enchanted blade- it did flatter him. He knew it was intended well.

Seizing opportunity- wanting to bask in his presence.

Meeting him each morning, restraining smiles as the Tevinter yawned and made for the armoury- always waving, or winking, or stopping for brief conversation.

_You are like sunlight._

_I could never tell you such a thing._

Observing his anguish, Dorian half-laughed, half-cried.

_You could...if you weren't such a coward._

Heading to the Deep Roads- tenderly placing that cloak over Dorian's shoulders.

Clinging to his hand for dear life in the night.

Making an utter fool of himself during the day.

All of it culminating in their discussion.

Dorian feigning to hurl the amulet into a chasm- his pure terror in response.

_I-I'm sorry for that._

_I thought I was being so clever..._

_But...I'd almost thrown away your soul, no?_

_I'm surprised you didn't tell me to_ 'eat shit and die' _\- heh._

Marcus hurling things too- insults, his words muffled through a haze of turmoil.

“You're embarrassing yourself- and you're embarrassing everything you're meant to represent.”

_Oh, **fuck off!!**_

_What do you know about anything, you oaf?!_

However Evallan couldn't stand it anymore- the constant chipping at his armour. He crumbled and wept.

_No- don't do that- don't listen to him._

_He doesn't know a_ void-damned thing, _Evallan._

_You know that._

Withstanding the Templars mockery, fleeing from camp- Villyen asking-

“What is it with you and the shem, brother?”

_He might have seen._

Making excuses- as he always did.

Lying and running- what else had life taught?

Yet Dorian would find him.

Would insist on leading him through the dark.

Holding him so he would not stray.

Evallan tried to return the favour- while the man suffered in isolation.

Dorian saw now what led to his success- aid from the same spirit as his Harrowing, projecting Amrallan's image.

_You must have hated that..._

_I am thankful- truly._

_I don't know what I would have done otherwise..._

Travelling with Dorian and the Templars, fighting Darkspawn side-by-side.

_Barring all the times you ran off- of course!_

Sleeping in the grass because he couldn't restrain his hands.

Feeling cold in his lungs for the first time in years.

Not minding it himself- but seeing the sadness in Dorian's eyes.

_Do you not find it ludicrous?_

_To feel so much- to want so much?_

Hearing these musings, Dorian laughed.

_No- I really don't!_

_Isn't it ludicrous to_ you _-_

_that you pretend to feel nothing?_

Evallan's thoughts- as if in reply-

_What do we know of each other- truly?_

Dorian laughed at that too.

_What do you think I need to know?_

_Is it all this?_

_Are my feelings justified yet?_

Admittedly, he was beginning to forget Evallan couldn't hear.

The spar between Dorian and Turnblade.

“Do you seek to prove a point?!- This is an idiotic way to do so!”

_I did have a point to prove, you're right..._

_...you're also right that it was idiotic._

_I caused all this...and you'll take the blame._

Turnblade back-handing a knife, Evallan's terror reaching a point of no control.

Sending Dorian away- lashing at whatever sensitivity he could target.

“That's a low blow, Evallan!”

“ _I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU THINK IT IS!”_

An endless barrage from the commander's gauntlets, curling into a ball for survival.

  
  


Speeding through the Ferelden landscape with a mouth full of blood.

  
  


Swallowing anxiety upon sighting Dorian, Fila and Titus at the entrance.

Glowering, wanting them to leave.

Stealing Marcus' attention so he would leave Titus be.

  
  


Ominous lines peering at him from ancient stone.

A willingness to do anything- as long as Dorian was unharmed.

  
  


Fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Enveloped by a soothing blanket- Lightbringer- but-

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


Dorian's hand around Lightbringer, his arm around Evallan.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“ _I have you. You're safe.”_

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


Darkness.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Is it...is it over...?”

Crystal structures sharpened into focus before him. Lifting a hand, Dorian saw his own fingers press against the glassy sheen- a barrier. He stumbled back and glanced one direction, then another.

Evallan's dream- intact.

On the other side, Lightbringer's- also intact.

Between them new magic fizzled and glimmered, knitting closed the wound that had existed before. 

“G...Good- then.” Dorian inhaled deeply, coughed. “Please- send me back. I...I need to tell him...”

Vocabulary failed him, everything of himself was spent. Various places and people dashed through his mind- stirring so much emotion, too much emotion.

“I-I need to tell him-” He choked, tears stung his eyes. _“-that he isn't alone!”_

Hiccuping, he keeled over, cackling and sobbing at once.

“I need...I need to tell him I...”

Words evaded him- he could only beg.

“Please- just wake me.”

  
\--  
  


For perhaps a blessed half-minute, Dorian was contently oblivious.

Bundled in soft furs, the comfort of his mattress beneath, ceiling above drenched in shadow- how late was it...? How little- or how long- had he slept?

Rummaging internally, he found a tornado of disorienting images. Struck as if by lighting, Dorian flung into a sitting position and called out desperately-

“ _Evallan?! Eva-”_

The Keeper appeared alongside him, grasping hands and breathing out- sounding half asleep.

“I am here- I am here!”

It seemed he'd been resting on the floor- of course on the floor. Dorian yanked him onto the bed, embracing as if for the last time, relief and anguish blurring his vision.

“ _Evallan!”_ He choked against the man's chest, felt arms tight around him. “You're so...you're so stupid, damn you! You should have told me!”

“Told you...?” He mumbled into Dorian's hair, holding securely.

“About the amulet- about everything!” Overwhelmed, he rambled and whined, barely coherent through sobs-

“ _Even if you'd just written me- I would have understood!...and...and even if I didn't at first, I...you didn't have to go through it alone!”_

Exhaling subtly, Evallan drew away from him- allowing enough space to guide Dorian's hand to the centre of his chest, pressing against the amulets circular outline.

“I was never alone.” He assured- so gentle. “I had this.”

Dorian's tears were unending- this remark merely enhanced his grief. One hand clutching to his Birthright, the other clung to Evallan's neck.

“But it wasn't enough...” He insisted in a helpless squeak, kneading fingers into scarred flesh. “All those years- they made you so cold...and you're not cold! Not even a little!”

Shaking him slightly, Dorian folded into Evallan's form.

He was permitted this crazed anguish for a time- a hand rubbed his back, carefully soothing. Once his cries lessened, Evallan inquired, gingerly-

“Dorian...what happened?”

“That's the other thing!” He straightened with a jerk- recalling- “It was _you!”_

The elf just blinked, hopelessly ignorant.

“...I do not understand...?”

“This-this!” Dorian's hands fumbled around his breast- meaning the amulet- giggling as he explained. “When you fixed this! You stupid idiot! You don't even know what you did...not even at the time...”

Trailing off, he curled against Evallan's heat and was permitted to gather his wits, practically crawling into the man's robes for safety. Never protesting, Evallan acted much like a dog acquiescing to a needy feline, sometimes swayed or bumped by Dorian's movements but dutifully unreactive.

Soon Dorian was more grounded- almost to the point of experiencing embarrassment. Yet not enough to disentangle from Evallan- fussing the whole time. Inhaling to muster some sense from himself, Dorian attempted to convey...

“You fixed my Birthright...with pieces of Lightbringer- of _yourself._ By doing so...you created a link between us- a link in the Fade! When I summoned Lightbringer in my Harrowing- it really _was_ a piece of her- of _both_ of you!”

The Keeper digested this with gradually widening eyes, as round as twin moons.

“I..I am so sorry, Dorian-” He struggled in a hush, speech failing him. “I- I really had no intention of-”

Shame. Shame and embarrassment and self-loathing and insecurity- and all those things Dorian couldn't stand from him anymore!

“No-no-no-don't be sorry!- Stop that!- Listen-!” Cupping the elf's face, he stared into a hesitant gaze, absorbed warmth from blushing skin. “I-I don't think it would have worked if...if I weren't receptive, you see? You created a link, I reinforced it...and _through that link_ \- I was able to mend your spirit-bond.”

Apprehensive eyes lowered in thought- Dorian continued to reassure.

“It's actually quite ingenious! Though unintentional, you created the perfect fail-safe.”

Evallan shook his head, avoided looking at him.

“I...I am so sorry to have put you through this.”

_Maker, you're so stupid._

_What can I tell you?_

_What would help you understand?_

“Shh- don't be sorry- look at me.” Dorian hastened to say anything- luring Evallan to make eye contact by nudging his chin. “Please...don't be sorry.”

Cool, watery eyes darted around his. Air caught in Dorian's throat.

_Words are so flimsy, sometimes._

_I- wish I could just-_

He stilled himself- it wasn't appropriate, not now. Not while both of them couldn't think sensibly and Evallan's consciousness had been portioned off- that would almost be cruel, wouldn't it?

Painfully dismissing that notion, he instead wrapped arms around the lost-looking elf, squeezing in earnest, hoping the wealth of his sincerity couldn't be missed.

“You're not alone, do you hear me? I'm right here.”

Evallan squeezed in turn, slouching naturally into his torso. They relaxed against each other, Dorian breathed as if for the first time in years, savouring each inhale.

_I want you to accept me with every part of you._

_Even the ugly parts._

_Maybe especially the ugly parts?_

_I don't know. But I can wait._

He didn't want to let go- not for anything. However Dorian slowly gained awareness of just how limp Evallan had become in his arms- on the verge of passing out, if he hadn't already. His instinct was to gather him under the blankets and keep him there- but that too felt inappropriate.

They'd shared a tent previously but layers of equipment between them and the lack of true privacy had kept Dorian in check. Then there was Evallan, who had no such impulse control, having recently slept on the ground rather than tempt himself.

_I'm...going to have to be the responsible one here._

“Evallan...” He cooed, reluctantly detaching. “Come now...you need a proper rest- in your own bed.”

He moaned lightly in resistance, grasping at Dorian's shirt, causing his heart to skip.

“ _No-no-no._ None of that.” Chuckling, his hands closed over Evallan's, leading them away. “You have to rest, Evallan. I promise I'm not going anywhere.”

An enormous, dramatic breath was his response- inspiring a laugh from Dorian.

_You really are like an overgrown mabari sometimes..._

Albeit for now, an obedient one. Wavering, he unfurled, swayed, mumbled-

“I will check in on you...early in the morning.”

“I'll be right here- you don't have to worry about me.”

Evallan dragged himself from the room, door closing with a click...

Dorian flopped back into his mattress, exhaling.

 _Rest...that_ is _a good idea._

Though he'd been unconscious for hours, it certainly didn't feel that way. Mind, body and soul utterly drained. He craved dreamless sleep and fell into it effortlessly.

_Wake up._

A deft voice- but insistent. Dorian garbled out some nonsense, ignoring it.

_Wake up!_

He groaned, burying his face under the blanket.

….....

_Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

Jerking upright, he waved frantically, yelling-

“ _What what WHAT?!_ What could you _possibly_ want now?!”

Towering above him was a figure of pure light, accosting his eyes- though her expression was still indiscernible to him, Dorian had a sense of aggravation.

Emanating that aggravation around herself, Lightbringer stuck a finger towards the door.

“ _UGH!”_ Irritated and unthinking, he clambered from his cosy nest and marched to her beckoning. However when his fingers closed over the door-handle, they simply passed through.

“....Ooh, that's disconcerting.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw himself- still slumbering in bed.

Lightbringer passed by, throwing her chin back haughtily while walking through the wood.

“Well, excuse me!” Huffing, he stomped after her.

On the other side lay Evallan, coiled in his robes, braced against Dorian's wall- fast asleep.

“....Oh.” He said flatly, pouting down at the quivering, unconscious bundle.

_Damn fool is probably freezing..._

Sensing eyes regarding him in admonishment, Dorian scowled at Lightbringer- lingering over her chosen.

“If he couldn't sleep alone, he should have said something!”

She simply flicked her head in another indignant gesture, striding through the wall.

“ _Excuse me!”_ He spluttered after her. “He _literally_ ran outside a tent and slept on the cold ground to avoid me! Are you forgetting that?! Weren't you there?!”

Storming back into his room, Dorian spied her standing beside his sleeping form- arms folded, wearing something akin to a frown.

“All you Lavellans have a bloody attitude, do you know that?” He grumbled, making for- well, himself. “Even your Spirits or ancestors or Gods or whatever-you-are!”

Upon reaching his body it occurred he had no idea what to do from there- slipping his hand awkwardly through his own face, he cringed.

“A little help?!” He shot at Lightbringer, waving.

Despite having no eyes, Dorian was sure she rolled them.

Suddenly his perspective was upside-down; once again lying in bed, with no view of Lightbringer or himself. He willed overtired limbs to move, staggering into the hall so he could crouch near Evallan- cradled in his own cloak, dead to the world.

_He might be shaking, but..._

_...he looks so peaceful._

It was difficult to believe there was anything amiss with him- if it weren't for his placement on the floor, rather than a bed.

“Evallan...” He coaxed sweetly, tugging his arm. “Come now, you can't sleep here- you'll get in trouble...”

Mumbling, the elf reached out, slinging arms around Dorian's neck, face nestled against his collarbone. With a nervous chortle, Dorian held around the waist and lifted.

“You can stay with me...” He spoke mostly to himself- Evallan was carted along by instinct. “...But we'll have none of your lapses in control, yes? We'll both be on our best behaviour, won't we?”

There was no response- he hadn't expected one. Safely back in the room, he situated Evallan upon the bed, snorting when the man fell onto the mattress and instantly curled.

“Maker, Evallan, you could at least take off your boots..”

Since he hadn't, Dorian removed them and sat at the edge of the bed, tensely peeling away some of the Keeper's many layers. This would lead to a perplexed, half-asleep Evallan smacking his hands ineffectually, cursing in muffled Dalish.

“Evallan!” Dorian scolded, breaking into genuine laughter. “Have you forgotten who it is?! I've _seen_ the amulet, remember?!”

The Keeper's aggressive slapping came to a halt, hands landing either side of him.

“Yes, see? Let's be cooperative for once, shall we?” At least the amusement eased some tension- _some_. He freed the Keeper from most of his layers, leaving enough that hopefully _both_ of them would maintain decency.

“Alright, now are you going to move over a little, or take over my whole bed?” He teased, guiding along with some gentle shoving until Evallan rolled to the side, blinking drowsily.

_Andraste have mercy..._

_...You're terribly attractive when you're just..._

_...vulnerable._

Deriding his own filthy mind, Dorian shook off his imaginings and crawled into bed. He made an effort to keep distanced from Evallan- who was oblivious to this at first. The elf gravitated for him- seeking to hold- and Dorian stiffened, blathering-

“Not-not so close, I think.”

Evallan froze, confusion evident in his stare.

“....Sorry.” He said very quietly.

Then twisted around, burrowing into his half of the blanket.

Guilt stabbed into his chest and Dorian rebelled against it-

 _He's been avoiding me for months-_ years _actually!_

_I'm being sensible- I'm doing him a favour!_

_I_ especially _shouldn't feel bad-_

_since he's been dancing around me all this time!_

Yet he did, illogically, for no good reason, feel horrible.

 _I'll only feel_ more _bloody horrible..._

_if we wake up with our hands where they shouldn't be!_

So he fell asleep studying Evallan's back, watching as scars that peaked over his clothes contracted from strain.


	18. Bound by Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 8.5) Evallan navigates his new strange condition while Dorian fusses.

Something was different.

Something was out of place.

Identifying the source of this unease was a sluggish, difficult task. Evallan attempted an intake of his surroundings, listing each detail in his mind.

Immediately he knew whatever his location, he was safe. Wrapped in blissful warmth and comfort, the world muffled by layers of blanket and a pair of strong arms. His sleeping companion was no mystery- Dorian had allowed him into his bed, no? Even if that memory eluded, the hint of fire and sweat was significant on its own.

Yet there was certainly _something_ amiss.

_We did not fall asleep like this._

_He would not allow it..._

Nor just that- beyond Dorian's smokey aroma the room smelled quite different from what it had. One grows accustomed to the damp within the tower, a dingy cloud lingering in every hall. It was a scent you only remember in its absence- and it was absent now- as absent as his clothes. Evallan appeared to be wearing nothing and Dorian was equally under-dressed, bare skin pressed to bare skin.

Startled, he lay stiffly and burned, trying to fathom his predicament. Eventually he realised the room was lit far brighter than Dorian's- where a window had been bricked. The ceiling here was spacious and a soothing breeze whistled through an out-of-sight opening, all fabrics and carpets dyed warm, luxurious shades.

_It is me._

_I am the thing out of place._

Though it wasn't terribly surprising. Cut off from the Fade, theoretically Evallan should no longer dream. Except in order to survive, he'd connected to something else- some _place_. With nowhere else in reach, his dreams brought him here.

Understandable. Evallan could even describe himself as grateful- almost.

Still- this timing was highly inappropriate.

Dorian's breathing was languid, tickling the side of his neck. Biting his tongue not to make a sound, Evallan scooted ever-so-carefully from the bed, determined to roll away and onto his feet without waking the man.

Luckily there was a robe hanging from the headboard. He slipped into the thin fabric, satisfied it at least covered more delicate areas. Not that it mattered- the true owner of this vessel was obviously comfortable to be seen by Dorian in such a way. It was just that Evallan found himself feeling rather intrusive.

Aimless, he padded around, blinking at paintings in the dim light, or frowning at books with titles he'd never heard of. After some time he settled at the writing desk and perused notes, finding most to be personal logs. Written by something akin to his own hand- his actualhand was clumsier in any language, than the careful Dalish script he poured over now.

The writing style was at least familiar; direct, to the point, sparing no time for frivolous detail but listing everything of importance in practical fashion. Yet he could make no sense of the information, lacking proper context for the endless descriptions, names, doodled maps...

Evallan debated searching out Amrallan's letters once more but never came to a decision.

“ _Mmn_...Amatus...? Come back to bed...”

He froze, anxiety rendering him mute. Dorian's hand grasped at sheets, displeased by their emptiness. Since Evallan was unable to think of a response, the grumbling continued;

“Alright...either come back to bed or close the bloody balcony.”

At first he was lost- then recalled that gentle breeze. Indeed nearby was a balcony door, left ajar to reveal snowy mountains. Even in this life, his other self must find these quarters stuffy, needing a draft to counteract. Not having the same issue, Dorian required his partner to heat their shared bed.

Stepping towards the balcony, Evallan swung it closed and flipped the latch. He returned to the desk then and sat tensely, brooding at his knees.

After a short bout of silence, Dorian sighed with dramatic misery.

“...It'll be one of _those_ nights, will it? I see how it is.”

Not really comprehending, Evallan observed from behind his hair. Dorian unfurled from the bed and instantly he looked away, cheeks flushed and lips thin.

“ _Bloody cold!”_ Thank the Gods for small mercies- Dorian also acquired a robe, saving Evallan from the shame of fighting with his own gaze.

To an extent, at least.

“So...what is it keeping us awake tonight, hrm? Orlais, the Chantry? Or maybe someone's just not doing their job?”

What to even say? Should he announce himself? Should he simply act as though nothing was wrong? While he thought and Dorian spoke the man also meandered for him, stretching and yawning, perfectly relaxed.

“Or, you're not...did you have a nightmare...?”

Thinking of his existence as a nightmare almost made Evallan laugh. He held himself.

Dorian's shadow fell over him, the other mage bending to his level with a sigh.

“ _Evallan_...don't ignore me, now.”

Lips brushed against his and he seized, fingers clutching to arm-rests.

“...O-oh.” Dorian jerked back, laughing. “I-I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you at first.”

Aware his face was several shades of red, Evallan lifted it for Dorian to see.

“...At...first?” He hiccuped, forced composure. “How can you see any difference?”

The Tevinter snorted, leaning upon the table.

“Well, no offence to you at all, of course, but _my_ Evallan doesn't tend to look around himself like a scared rabbit-” Choking, he hastened to add. “Not because of your ears- or anything! Your- your eyes. You stare around like a cornered mouse, or something. That's all I meant. Your ears are perfectly normal.”

Perplexed but not taking it as an insult, he nodded, considering-

“...That is not how you have described it to me before.”

“Oh?” He seemed amused by that, chortling. “And how did _'I'_ describe it before?”

“You said I scowl with only my eyes.”

This inspired peals of hilarity from the man- a calming sound. It gladdened Evallan to hear the same laughter he knew so intimately.

“Well- _yes_ ,” Dorian breathed out, wiping his eyes. “It _is_ that- but behind the scowling- it's obvious you're quite terrified.”

Evallan's spine firmed, corner of his mouth tugging downwards.

“I am not afraid.” He stated in defence.

“Oh, _forgive_ me,” Dorian rolled his eyes, teasing. “ _Distraught_ then, or _stressed_. Are those more appropriate descriptors for your terribly masculine ego?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to avoid sniling, muttering only-

“Yes.”

Which caused Dorian to roll his eyes again, though Evallan noted how affectionately he was regarded between these jabs.

_This must be difficult for him..._

A strange thought- not because of its content. Thus far it was the only internal dialogue he discerned as ' _shared'_ between him and the quiet presence whose life he'd invaded. He was doubly compelled to express the sentiment, mumbling-

“I...am sorry. This must be very strange for you.”

“Ah, well...” Dorian shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “It's probably awful to say aloud...but I think I would be more upset if you had no idea who I am. Luckily, even when you're speaking intongues or drawing diagrams on the walls...you always seem to know _me_ , so...”

“I still...cannot imagine that being so much of a comfort.”

“Well...” He paused with a sense of apprehension. “He is...still in there, isn't he? He just won't remember what we talked about. Or at least...that's how he explained it.”

“I hear his thoughts sometimes,” Evallan was quick to confirm, wanting to reassure. “I do not believe he ' _goes'_ anywhere as such, no...”

“Good- that's. That's good.” Though he tried to seem unswayed the relief was obvious in his posture, relaxing with a huff.

“It really is _you_ in an awkward situation here,” Dorian began again, snickering “I imagine waking up naked in another man's bed without alcohol to blame, was- wait, do you drink? I suppose you might.”

Evallan shook his head.

“No, I thought not. Well, my point stands then.”

Pondering it over, Evallan shook his head a second time.

“It is fine, really. We fell asleep in a similar arrangement, only, I, ah...both of us were clothed.”

“Oh.” Dorian snorted into his hand, stifling amusement- then abruptly straightened. “Wait a second! Does that mean you took my advice?”

He blinked, not comprehending.

“Your advice...?”

Sighing at Evallan as if he were the slowest man in any universe, Dorian conveyed;

“I told you to find me, remember!? To hold onto me?”

“O-oh-” Recalling, his face overheated. “I...Yes, I did follow that advice- but I...I forgot where I heard it, I think.”

“ _Typical!”_ He scoffed, full of exaggeration. “ _I_ don't get credit for anything.”

“You can have that credit now, if it means so much to you.” Evallan joked automatically.

“Careful, now,” Dorian chuckled, flashing a grin. “You don't know what sort of _'credit'_ I might ask for.”

He must have looked strange- for certain Evallan knew his mouth had fallen open slightly. Seeing this Dorian became apologetic, spluttering and waving his hands.

“Maker, my stupid mouth! It's easy to forget um...different stages of familiarity, and all that?”

“I-I understand.” He choked on a nervous laugh. “It is fine, really.”

“Well...” Dorian gestured around himself. “This is still _your_ room, as far as I'm concerned, and it's a tad late for a tour of the castle. How about we go back to bed, and you can have a little rest before you're whisked off to whatever blighted world, hrm?”

“I would not mind that.” Evallan muttered, then tugged at his robe. “But...can we put on clothes?”

Dorian cackled at that, nodding.

“That _would_ feel more appropriate, no?” He strode to a dresser, waving Evallan to follow. Once he'd done so, Dorian patted the top with a smirk.

“This is where you keep your clothes. It's actually the _third_ time I've shown you.”

“The third?” Evallan perked a brow. “I do not remember the other times.”

“Yes, well...I say it was ' _you'_ in a very...general sense.” His voice tilted between sadness and humour, though the sincerity of his smile never faltered. Encouraged but still skittish, Evallan dragged open one of the drawers and simply stared. In his reality he owned maybe three sets of robes, nearly identical. Looking at the plentiful folds of rich fabric, he couldn't imagine how this other self managed to dress himself in the morning.

“Need some help?” Dorian offered, leaning into his side.

“I only wanted some underclothes.” He ground out, massaging his forehead. “There is so much here...it is giving me a headache.”

Not an exaggeration- rooting around in these belongings provoked a throb in the centre of his skull, close to unbearable.

“I don't think it's that- you're looking somewhat green.”

A hand steadied him and Evallan braced against the attached arm with a grunt.

“I think...I am...” Incapable of completing a sentence, apparently. All at once his strength dissipated and he slouched into Dorian, who was steadfast in catching him.

“There he goes-” He heard the Tevinter mumble into his hair, holding close. “Don't worry, I'm here.”

His voice was the last thing Evallan heard, his careful touch the last thing he felt.

  
\--  
  


Warmth dissolved. Cold bit into his skin. The towers dank walls swirled into view, obscured by shadow. It was still late, moonlight unable to seep through cracks in the blocked window.

Tremors possessed Evallan's limbs. How long had he been cold? While in that other world, he was essentially comatose. Now in his own vessel, lacking any will, detached from his source-

He shivered uncontrollably.

Where was Dorian?

Blinking around himself, he identified the problem. Somewhere throughout the night their self-consciousness had driven them far apart. Accustomed to not needing a blanket, in his sleep he allowed Dorian to hoard it, while he huddled against the wall.

Now he was awake- and freezing.

Evallan mulled over his options, curled up and shaking.

Unfortunately he could think of no solution that didn't involve waking Dorian. Despairing, he shoved his face into the mattress as if that would help, attempting to force stillness from his body.

There was no willing away the sensation- it almost hurt. Chill pierced exposed flesh, leaving him feeling vulnerable and sick. Spasms were difficult to subdue, as much as he fought. To be a slave to the elements in such a fashion hurt in a way he couldn't describe. It highlighted there was something missing- something very important- that much he understood.

Lacking this _thing_ \- magic, purpose, Lightbringer, countless pieces of himself-

Evallan felt helpless and terribly miniscule.

He aimed to stifle his whimpers but some must have escaped-

“ _Mn_...Evallan?”

Arms coiled around his head to muffle Dorian's speech, hiding as best he could

“...Evallan?”

Warm fingers pressed to his shoulder. He choked-

“ _I- am fine.”_ More a squeak than any kind of dialogue.

“Maker- no you're not,” Dorian hushed impatiently. “You're bloody frozen.”

With that he tugged Evallan into his chest, stretching the blanket over them both.

“You- do not have to-”

“Shh, yes I do. Stop that.” Bundling him up, he grumbled. “I'm sorry- I really did mean to share...”

Drawing in a relieved breath, Evallan clung without hesitation, smothering his face with the man's under shirt. Though cocooned in unmatched security, he still felt foolish- perhaps even more, now. He tried to stifle the emotion in Dorian's scent yet it bubbled from his throat- a strangled sound which he diverted into speech-

“ _I-am-sorry.”_

The Tevinter had already been agonising over him, brushing knots of hair aside or rubbing his back. He agonised more now- squeezing, mumbling apologetically.

“Hush now- don't be silly. I...really didn't mean to shove you into the corner...” Gripping tighter, his head lowered into Evallan's neck.

“Just...just go to sleep, alright..?”

Wounded fingers clutched as firmly as they dared. Inhaling, he settled against Dorian, trying to ignore the guilt stirring within his chest.

“Thank you...”

“You don't have to thank me,” He sighed, digits curling into Evallan's hair. “Just...just go back to sleep.”

Striving to obey, he shut his eyes and basked in the man's heat, circulation returning. Through a soothed haze he considered how _warm_ Dorian was- not just physically. Everything about him emitted warmth- every smile, each concerned touch. So passionate and loyal, so foolishly stubborn- so stubbornly charming, as if charm could save them all.

Evallan continued listing attributes to himself, thinking of Dorian's intelligence and tenacity, reflecting that he was the only man- shem or elf- who could hope to keep up with him.

Inevitably, he began questioning why he'd avoided the Tevinter for so long.

He knew there was a reason- he simply couldn't remember.

He had a sense it was not a good reason.

In fact, he had a sense of trying to rationalise with himself- for a long time- that it was not a good reason. That even Lightbringer would tell him so, if years at war hadn't made her voice unbearable for him.

Unfortunately- he could not remember it now, as hard as he tried.

Did it not...have something to do with his clan? With Amrallan?

Yet- Amrallan would also disagree with whatever notion, he knew that too.

Evallan fell asleep puzzling over fragments he either couldn't locate, or failed to piece together.

  
\--  
  


Fingertips lightly caressed his lower back, causing Evallan to stir. Dorian had inadvertently slunk a hand beneath his shirt during their slumber. Huffing, Evallan shimmied against the other man's form, face sunk into his neck. With a murmur he was squeezed close, lips brushing an ear-tip. Heat blossomed in Evallan's centre, dimly aware of a brighter room, the ruckus of morning- singing birds, quiet activity in the halls...

Far more conscious of what lay directly before him- Dorian, half-clothed, prone underneath with hands roaming his sleeping-partner's torso. Barely in control of himself, Evallan captured a mouthful of skin, abrading sweetly with tongue and teeth.

“ _Mnn...”_ Dorian shifted, rumbled, gripped him tighter... “A _lovely_ wake-up call...”

Then grasped Evallan by the hip and heaved upwards, half-coaxing, half-pushing onto his back Laying atop, pelvis-to-pelvis, lips sealed over Evallan's with a needy hum. Swiftly enthused, he shoved his mouth forward in turn, arms knotting around the Tevinter's shoulders.

Thoughts swimming and insides aflame- Evallan needed to be _closer._ That in mind, he hiked a leg up to press into the back of Dorian's, revelling in how every inch of the man imprinted onto his nerves. Fingers ran up his sides, kneading into his torso, inspiring gasps and an urgency for _more._

More skin. More heat. More of _him._

Reaching between them, Evallan meant to wrangle the shirt from the other mage's torso, only for a sharp recollection to stab through his palms. He drew his bandaged hands away, hissing, and Dorian started, clearly sobered from their half-asleep indiscretion-

“ _Kaffas!”_ Snatching Evallan's wrists, he pushed them even further from himself. “ _I didn't mean to!_ \- stop- _your hands!-”_

He responded in a growl, thrusting the offending limbs into Dorian's chest-

“ _So restrain them.”_

The Tevinter chimed with anxious laughter, relinquishing his grasp as he fell backwards.

“ _F-for the love of-!_ Now I _know_ you're not in your right mind!”

Continuing his stumbling, Dorian landed on the floor with a heavy grunt.

Bemused, Evallan angled to peer down at the man; rubbing his sore behind, sprawled on the paves.

“If you're going to be staying here...” He said slowly, eyeing with suspicion. “...we need to set some ground rules...”

The corner of Evallan's mouth tugged, unable to restraint himself-

“Is that why you are on the floor?”

Dorian brightened to a dozen shades, waving his arms frantically.

“ _It's not funny!_ Just...just listen a moment...” Pinching his nose-bridge, he inhaled. “You're not...acting like yourself. You were holding it together for Lightbringer's sake, I'm sure, and now you're, ah...”

Viewing him expectantly, he waited. Sighing enormously, Dorian listed..

“...Unquestioning, uninhibited, un...well, just- _docile!”_

To this he could only frown, not comprehending- or at least, not comprehending the issue...

“...Does that not make things easier?”

Which was apparently sad or amusing- or amusing in a sad way? Whatever the case, Dorian broke into more peals of sardonic laughter. Evallan simply had to wait until the man was quite done with his brief nervous breakdown.

“See...that's how I _know_ your judgement is impaired,” He was finally able to state. “Because the Evallan _I_ know would _loathe_ to be called docile.”

“...Perhaps I do not mind because _you_ are the one saying it?”

“ _Maker,_ that's another thing, then!” Dorian spluttered, visibly pained. “Don't...don't _say_ things like _that_ , either!”

Falling silent, he considered their circumstance and the shem's response to it.

The conclusion he reached irritated him-

“You believe when the Entrapment fades...I would regret any... _intimacy_ with you...”

“Yes.” He breathed out. “Exactly.”

“And if I tell you that you are a fool, that the Entrapment has nothing to do with it, and I would not regret such a thing...?”

“I wouldn't believe you!” Dorian chuckled bitterly, displaying an uneven grin. “It might sound cruel- and _I'm sorry_ for that, _truly_ \- but...for your _own good-_ I can't trust anything you say!”

Though displeased by that he accepted the reasoning- as typical, the Tevinter wished to protect him. From himself, if need be...

“I will...try my best- not to touch you...”

“Good...perfect...” Sighing in relief and stress, the man unravelled to stand. “...What time is it? Maybe I didn't miss breakfast...”

He began rooting through drawers, extracting clothes. Evallan followed suit, retrieving his robes and wrestling them back onto his body- his circlet had been left in his room, due to the crack. It would have to be repaired- he'd easily have time, confined to the higher levels as he was...

Smoothing out his layers, he suddenly realised Dorian was considering him- somewhat awkwardly. He perked a brow in silent query and his fellow mage asked, seeming mystified;

“Are you...coming down to breakfast with me..?”

“Of course...” He nodded, confused. “I am not allowed to leave otherwise. It would be foolish not to take advantage of my one freedom, no...?”

“Oh, well...I suppose that's right.” Dorian snorted, gestured him closer. “But...come here first.”

Baffled but trusting without reserve, he padded over. Smirking, Dorian turned him around, held by the shoulders and lured him to the writing desk. There he was encouraged to sit with a pat on the back and once again obeyed, increasingly lost.

“What is it...?”

His hair was freed from its loose tie, a comb raking through unkempt waves a moment later.

“Your hair is a bloody mess...” Dorian explained, tenderly brushing. “What sort of friend would I be if I let the whole tower see you like that, hm?”

“O-oh.” Taken aback by the consideration- the affection of it- Evallan's cheeks pinked. Though a little sheepish, he allowed the fussing, relaxing at Dorian's touch.

“See, that's better...” Placing the comb aside, the Tevinter admired his work. “ _Now_ you look like the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan.”

Smiling gratefully, Evallan rose to his feet.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Beaming, he nodded towards the door. “Let's head off. I can't wait to see everyone's face when you actually sit for a meal with us!”

He snorted at the joke and matched Dorian's pace. As they exited he slipped a hand gingerly into the Tevinter's- not really thinking of it. However the digits he connected to recoiled, steel eyes wide in shock.

“ _I- I am sorry-”_ Gasping the apology, Evallan retracted- but something in his expression must have touched the other man.

“N-no- it's alright- here-” He lightly reconnected them, cautious with Evallan's wounds. “It's just...holding hands. We did that quite a bit in the Deep Roads, anyway...”

“Yes...that...that is true.” While he stammered, Dorian tugged him along, obviously not wanting him to dwell.

“Besides...I doubt anyone will question an Entrapped mage needing a chaperone!”

“That...is also likely true...”

So they descended together, clinging as firmly as either dared.

  
\--  
  


“ _Eldest!”_ Fila near-shrieked upon sighting them. “ _Are you okay?_ \- Oh! Are you going to eat with us?!”

“That's right! Granted, he hasn't been given much of a choice.” Dorian intervened, possibly sensing Evallan's unease through their joint hands. If anyone found it odd, he didn't notice their glances. Overwhelmed by the choir of discussion and eating utensils, he leant into Dorian and focused singularly on what was before him.

Fila and Titus sat side-by-side on one end of the table, Katerina perched opposite. He allowed himself to be cajoled into a seat, only releasing the Tevinter's fingers when he was sure they would sit together.

“Are you feeling okay, Eldest?” File asked, pouting at his injuries.

“Yeah those- look pretty bad-” Titus mumbled guiltily. “...Sorry I wasn't much help.”

Evallan knit his brow at the boy, swearing in Dalish before remembering to admonish in common Ferelden-

“It was not your fault, and not your place to help. Though I am grateful for the sentiment.”

Brooding wordlessly, the young man nodded and dug into his food.

“I _told_ them not to get in the way.” Dorian grumbled, piling bread onto his plate.

“In any case...I am fine,” He huffed, sliding a bowl of porridge towards himself. “I am hungry...”

“Is it just me...or is it always _you two_ getting into trouble?” Katerina jested but he was preoccupied, gulping down spoonfuls of tepid slime. Evallan was unsure he could identify it, really...It was _meant_ to be porridge...

“Well, that's not fair,” Dorian rebounded, chuckling. “Elias and I used to get into all sorts of trouble- until he became sensible and I became, ah...”

“ _Drunk?”_ Katerina supplied, audibly snickering.

“Well! Joke all you want but that's not far from the truth.”

The friends bantered but Evallan dismissed conversation, shovelling food into his mouth.

“It's nice having Eldest here!” Announced Fila at some point.

“What do you mean?” Titus chortled. “He's not even paying attention! He's just eating.”

“Well- that's nice too! He doesn't eat enough!”

“That's....actually a fair point,” He felt Dorian observe him. “Are you...actually _enjoying_ that? Why are you eating that? Do you...want me to look for an apple- or something?”

“I am hungry.” Evallan grunted, not pausing in his swallows.

“Yes, but...Do you really want _that?_ Should I get you something else? Look- this bread is _almost_ fresh!-”

“Leave him alone, Dorian!” Fila admonished. “Let him eat!”

“ _I want him to eat!”_ He countered. “But don't you think it's odd!? He wouldn't eat that usually- why am I the only one concerned?!”

“Maker, Dorian!” Katerina giggled. “Just let him eat! What's wrong with you?”

“There's nothing wrong with _me!_ He hates porridge- he calls it gruel!”

“He _said_ he's hungry.” Titus defended between his own mouthfuls.

There was a pause, in which Evallan continued slurping porridge, as he'd done the entire time...

“....Do you want some fruit? I'm getting you some fruit.”

“Dorian!” Fila whined after him, cackling. “Stop being _weird_ \- sit _down!”_

Yet the Tevinter was gone, storming through the hall while yelling-

“ _I'm not the one being weird!”_

Upon his return Evallan had polished off his bowl- Dorian still offered a fresh pear, only mildly bruised. Flopping into his chair, he lamented with a hiss-

“I think I just agreed to write someone's thesis on wyvern mating habits...”

“I am sure it will be exceptional.” Joking while he accepted the pear, Evallan struggled to slice- unable to exert the force necessary. His self-appointed caretaker was swift in taking over cutting into neat portions. Evallan nudged half towards Dorian and the man frowned, attempting to shoo him away.

“No- I found that for you...”

“I would prefer to share.”

Exhaling in defeat, Dorian plucked a fruit slice He smiled shyly before crunching into it- more than a little endearing...

“ _Ugh!”_ Katerina feigned a noise of disgust. “You two are _sickening,_ you know that? I'm heading to work before it rots my teeth.”

With that as her farewell she strode from the hall, leaving the gaggle of mages to finish their meals.

“That's an idea,” Dorian pondered aloud. “You can come with me and help Kat in the library. She won't thank us for it, but she _will_ put up with us!...Would you...like that?”

“I do not mind.” Shrugging, Evallan popped another pear-chunk into his mouth.

“No...you wouldn't, would you?” Sighing, Dorian leant upon his hand, inspecting him in silent but obvious concern.

For some reason- he was reminded of something. Looking across at Fila, Evallan inquired;

“Sister...may I steal you briefly, before you begin your duties?”

“Hrm?” She blinked, then nodded. “Of course, Eldest! Is it really important?”

“It may be.”

“And I suppose,” Dorian intervened, smirking. _“I'm_ not invited to this little meet?”

“Dalish business, I am afraid.” He answered truthfully, flashing the Tevinter a smile.

“Mhm, I thought as much...just don't be long, alright? I'll worry if you're gone all morning...”

“I will not keep you waiting,” He slipped his hand into Dorian's, squeezing. “I promise.”

  
\--  
  


The others departed after breakfast, giving Fila and Evallan space to discuss freely. He wasted no time-

“I need tattoo ink.”

“Ink?” Fila scrunched up her face. “There might be a substitute in the stockroom, but...what do you need it for?”

“While I was unconscious...I saw something- a sort of...”

“Vision?” She supplied helpfully, with only a hint of tease.

“Yes, something like that,” Offering a feint smile, he elaborated. “I believe I can complete Lightbringer's circle...If I accomplish that, she might remember herself.”

“And...you'd become more powerful, right?” She frowned. “Couldn't that be dangerous..?”

“It could be,” He admitted, levelling his gaze on hers. “But I owe that to her- and to my mother, and to Amrallan. I am sworn to it- you know this...”

For a short time she pouted, examining his features- ultimately, as he knew would happen, she relented;

“Okay, _fine_...and you probably need someone to help you apply it, right?”

He nodded.

“...Why didn't you ask Dorian?” She asked slyly, examining him closer.

He flushed.

“...I...am embarrassed to, I suppose...”

This seemed to stun her- though not because it was stunning information-

“Maybe there _is_ something wrong with you-” She giggled. “If you're _admitting_ it!”

Exhaling tiredly, Evallan side-stepped the topic;

“Will you have time in the morning- before your duties?”

“For you? Of course, Eldest!” Beaming, she reached for his hand but swiftly halted-

“You need to change your bandages, Eldest...”

“O-oh-” Inspecting the soiled fabric, he nodded. “It slipped my mind...”

“Don't they...hurt?”

“Not unless there is considerable pressure,” Evallan shrugged. “They no longer feel of anything...”

“Hrm...” She narrowed her eyes in mock-suspicion. “Is Dorian taking care of you? He better be.”

“ _What?”_ Reddening, he snorted in bemusement. “Of course! Did you not say yourself, it is a habit of his?”

Her expression brightened, giggling again-

“Just checking, Keeper!” Standing, she pecked his cheek. “Do you want me to help with the bandages?”

“No- I will take care of them. Thank you, sister.”

So she headed cheerily to the garden and Evallan ascended the tower once more. First he'd have to re-bandage his wounds, then he'd meet Dorian in the library. The thought stirred a nostalgic joy in him- though not long ago, it might as well have been another lifetime.

He'd never expected to return to that sacred place, under any circumstance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA BOY COMING BACK AT YA IN 2021 WITH THE gay fluff and angst.
> 
> This chapter and the next one are intentionally laid back after the constant turmoil and mindfuckery I have put everyone through. My favourite thing is how Evallan is basically just vibing while Dorian is having a quiet breakdown.


	19. Careless Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Ch. 9) Dorian and Evallan bond and laze about while waiting for the Entrapment to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe the fourth time I've edited the notes here but I just wanted to leave off on a less negative note.
> 
> I'm still writing because it's what I love to do and that isn't going to change, but it's probably going to be a few weeks-months before I can stir up the confidence to update publicly. If you want to see the continuation of this story, I suggest you bookmark or do whatever you can to get an alert (I'm a boomer I don't know Ao3 functions), because I'm probably going to appear randomly in like 2 months and just dump the last five chapters of "Book/Season/Part One" over a week and then vanish and come back with another content dump.
> 
> I'm honestly just juggling a lot in my life and those insecurities leak into my online existence. I just need to shut up and go write on my own for a while like I used to.
> 
> There's also the chance that I might impulsively go back on this and update anyway, but I'm trying not to do that lol.

_...Early researchers operated under the assumption that the social habits of wyverns would share similarities with those of highdragons, due to their visual likeness. With further study, the striking differences between wyverns and dragons became quickly apparent..._

_I'm fifteen pages into this bloody thing..._

_...And there's_ still _no bloody sign of him!_

 _What are they even_ doing _?!_

_...The most prominent difference, and the one that seems to set apart their social rituals, is the inclusion of poison glands into the wyvern's anatomy. Whereas dragons test prospective mates through combat, or competing for prey, the wyvern tests suitors via the poison itself._

_Through scientific observation, it has been concluded this is due to the independent nature of the wyvern. They are loathe to share their territory or prey with any creature they judge as weak. Therefore, trust between these beasts can only be attained when both are assured that the other is hearty enough to withstand their poison..._

_...Maybe_ that's _why he's acting so strange?_

_Did I just...withstand his poison...?_

_Maker, what am I thinking?!_

_He's not a blighted wyvern, Pavus!_

_Even if he bloody-well acts like one!_

Huffing in frustrated surrender, Dorian shoved the book away. Arms forming a pillow, he dropped his face into it with a private, anguished groan.

“Dorian...are you actually doing _any_ work over there?” Katerina's voice chided from a nearby shelf, where she was collecting tomes, a few already stacked in one arm. He peeked at his friend from behind a robe-sleeve, the concealed pout evident in his voice.

“Well, it depends on your meaning...I have a pile of books on wyvern behaviour right here, and-”

“And you're not looking at _them,_ either!” She scolded, the perfect image of a dedicated scribe in how she frowned, free hand on a hip.

“ _I can't focus!”_ He jolted upright, knocking aside several volumes. “Where is he?! They said they only needed to chat...”

Rolling her eyes, Katerina turned to inspect more titles, absently carrying their discussion.

“You finally bedded him and now you think you're his handler...”

“ _I've done no such thing!”_ He was prompt in his denial, sitting straighter. “You've seen what he's like! Do you really think I'd take advantage?!”

“ _That's_ definitely not what I said...” She rebuffed airily, not looking from her task. “...well, not the taking advantage bit, anyway. He seems fine to me!”

“Because _you_ don't really know him...” Dorian observed with a sneer.

“Fila doesn't seem too worried...”

“ _She doesn't really know him either!”_ Gesturing wildly, he upset more of his book-pile. “At least- not as his _own person._ She knows him as her older brother- which is fine! But she's more inclined to think of him as invincible than anything else.”

Katerina scoffed impatiently, shooting a glare before immersing once more into her work- though not before dismissing him-

“Go look for him, then! If you're so bothered.”

Tension stretched across the lightly-crowded library, silence disturbed by the nervous tapping of Dorian's fingers as he pondered...

“...Fine, I will!”

Chair-legs screeched as he bounced upwards, earning a few scolds and shushes from those who were actually preoccupied with work. Leaving them unacknowledged, Dorian strode into the hall, features twisted in concentration.

 _He_ promised _not to keep me waiting..._

_...I don't know why I believed him!_

_Even at the best of times -_

_isn't that essentially all he does?!_

Subduing his frustration was difficult- thankfully not impossible. Evallan's inebriated-like behaviour was already digging under his skin, plaguing him with more questions than answers. One would think that experiencing a chunk of the elf's memory first-hand would enlighten Dorian somewhat. He supposed it did- _somewhat_ \- on _some_ things.

Yet already the fragments of Evallan's past were becoming an incomprehensible blur, allowing Dorian but a few scraps of knowledge. A new, much-needed insight on the Keeper's internal world...

At the same time, there were many aspects that still eluded Dorian.

_Has he always been...so terribly clingy?_

_Was he just...reigning himself in before...?_

Despite this clinginess he was equally open to distraction- more so than usual. Sweeping aside these musings, Dorian refocused his efforts to what distracted the elf _this_ time. Traversing the hall, he eyed the faraway door he knew to be Evallan's, wondering if he'd needed to return for whatever reason...

Regardless, he wouldn't be in the dining hall, would he? He was confined to the higher levels- the Templars would order him to depart once the room emptied. Maybe that's what happened- and in his Entrapped, disoriented state, he'd thought to hide in his room, forgetting to meet Dorian?

There was one way to know for certain, and he felt a tad uncomfortable to simply charge into the man's quarters...

“...Alright...” He spoke aloud, glancing around to ensure solitude. “...I know you can hear me- and you probably know where he is. Mind lending me a hand...?”

Inspecting his surroundings, he added with a chuckle;

“Or a....light?”

A response _was_ given- though not involving any kind of visual. Instead he experienced a pulling sensation somewhere in his chest, as if there were a string tied to his ribcage, tugging him along. From this he judged his assumptions to be correct- this sense of pressure clearly led to Evallan's room.

“I see _I'm_ not worth any fancy veilfire tricks...” He joked to Lightbringer, smirking as he closed the space between himself and his destination. She'd been more than happy to display such _'veilfire tricks'_ when her chosen lost Dorian's Birthright. Apparently this situation wasn't considered as desperate.

_Which probably means he's fine, at least..._

Knuckles rapped against wood, calling out as he did-

“...Are you there...?”

“Enter.” The reply was swift- but light. Whatever had consumed his attention, he sounded casual enough. Dorian accepted the invitation with equal swiftness, immediately feeling like the biggest block-head in the tower when he realised _why_ Evallan was late.

Cool eyes blinked up at him from the writing-desk; where a bowl of fresh water, bandages and ointment had been laid out. The Keeper was still mid-way in a struggle with his dirtied wrappings, having paused to greet Dorian.

“Oh-your bandages- of course... _Kaffas_ \- I'm so sorry, I forgot-”

“It is fine, Dorian.” He consoled gently, seeming to want to wave him off.

“No, it isn't- here, let me-”

Dorian rushed to perch on a corner of the desk, tentatively grasping Evallan's hands. Though he didn't recoil, muscles tensed in Dorian's grip- which was odd. While Entrapped, Evallan had seemed more than just a _little_ receptive to his touch.

“I- really do not need...” As awkwardly as he attempted to refuse, he was still docile enough to have aid forced upon him- and now Dorian was slightly suspicious. _Why_ was Evallan so concerned with hiding his hands...? He couldn't _possibly_ be embarrassed!- That was obviously an emotion he didn't have frequent access to, judging by his behaviour the entire morning.

Without his usual strong-headedness, Evallan merely sat and pouted while the spools of fabric unravelled from his palms. It became evident to Dorian why he'd wished to conceal the injuries- though he had to do a double-take - slivers of green light, peeking between creases. Once those bandages were discarded he was faced with a bright pulse, seemingly burrowed into the centre of Evallan's wounded right hand.

“...Why is your hand _glowing?!”_

“Please- do not panic-” Evallan attempted to soothe his nerves before they ran away with him; voice warm, his opposite, mundane-looking hand reaching to lay on Dorian's forearm.

“I'm not _panicking!_ -” Dorian spluttered, very much panicking. “But- _why_ is it doing _that?!_ ”

Fingertips pressed with more urgency into his arm, seeking to comfort- it did help, a little...

“Lightbringer connected to you for survival.” The Keeper explained, as composed as he was tender. “I was forced to connect to something else.”

“Something else...?” Turning his brain upside-down for a satisfactory explanation, Dorian tried to angle the scenario through a perspective he could actually understand...

“...Some sort of...reservoir of will, deep within the Fade...?”

“ _Something_ like that, yes.”

The lack of deeper elaboration wasn't lost on Dorian, sighing wearily in his response.

“...You're not going to explain, are you?”

“No.” Evallan's mouth curved sadly, shaking his head. “You will only think me mad.”

He was so sincere and so damn sweetly melancholic about it- Dorian was powerless to argue.

“Alright, fine...just let me do this for you, then...”

With nothing left to hide, the elf submitted to his fussing. Cautious with each of his motions, Dorian set to lightly cleaning the inflamed areas, already having all the supplies he needed on the desk. Though absorbed in his task, he could feel Evallan's eyes pinned upon him in silent consideration.

Around the time Dorian began wiping the injuries down with ointment, that silence abruptly broke-

“Dorian...do you ever wonder how things could be different?”

“ _Hrm?”_ He glanced at Evallan's pensive features, perplexed. “...All the time, really. Mostly, I wonder how things would have turned out if...well, if you'd stayed _here_ , instead of being sent off to fight Darkspawn...”

“I mean further than that...” Pausing, he teethed a lip in thought. “...What if the Blight never occurred? What if it occurred elsewhere- or if Tevinter never fell...?”

Dorian shrugged, continuing to salve damaged skin.

“Well, we may never have met, I suppose...”

“You think so?”

Shooting a cursory look at his face, Dorian noted the perked brow.

“You have reason to think otherwise?”

“I would find you.” The Keeper said firmly, gaze and tone unwavering. “In a better world, or a worse one.”

Wholly flummoxed by that, he turned his sights downwards, staring blankly at warped flesh while his cheeks tinted red. He found himself desperately wishing he'd held onto more scraps from his journey down Evallan's recollections- had the elf always thought in such...poetic terms? In his usual state he rarely spoke- when he did speak, it was practical and direct.

Then again...what Dorian could still glean from his experience revealed telling moments of internal dialogue. What was that one phrase? The one that almost made him weep to hear?

_'You are like sunlight.'_

_'I could never tell you such a thing.'_

Somehow feeling incredible guilt and anxiety, he was thankful this brought to mind something- some _one_ else.

“You...actually reminded me-” He fell over his words, feeling inept for what they had to convey. “-There's something...I need to tell you. Something I think you should know.”

“Oh...?” Evallan tilted his head, as oblivious as a pup.

“It's about...” Dorian struggled, wondering if what he intended was kind- or cruel. “It's about...Amrallan.”

“O-oh...” Hands drew away, apparently wishing to be as attentive as possible. “Tell me.”

Pinching his nose in stress, Dorian looked everywhere except the elf's shaky expression.

“I just...wondered if you knew how _proud_ he was of you...”

“I...” Evallan coughed, forced stability from himself. “...Pardon?”

“Right- see- you probably don't remember- _Lightbringer_ overheard them, you didn't-” He gestured frantically, barely fighting his apprehension. “Amrallan...he said he was proud of you. That he always knew Lightbringer would choose you- that you were the most tenacious mage he'd ever known...”

The Keeper's stare faltered, blinking around uncertainly. Dorian had to push himself to continue-

“Your mother agreed with him...She said the only mage to compare would be your father- and even _he_ wasn't so fierce as to earn Lightbringer's favour...”

Now that wintery gaze lowered, brimming with slow emotion.

“They were both...insurmountably proud of you, Evallan. Never for a second did they think there was a mistake- or that someone else might be better suited...”

Gradual emotion evolved into watery grief, downcast eyes shining in the dim light- already Dorian was beginning to regret his bloody insistence that he should share this knowledge!

“ _I-I-”_

“Oh, Maker, no, _please_ -” He interrupted, reaching to squeeze Evallan's wrist. “-let's not _either_ of us start crying again, I don't think I can take it...”

“No-no, it is fine- it is- just-” Inhaling, he folded a hand over Dorian's, fingers spasmodic, voice weak. “Whenever Amrallan...whenever he dragged me from death- berated me for risking myself..”

He choke on a sudden laugh- or a sob- trudging onwards-

“...They always said- I would be dead without him...And he would tell me- it was for the clan...so I could fulfil my purpose...” Whatever determination he had to still himself crumbled, moisture trickling down his face- and yet he laughed- _definitely_ a laugh that time-

“But I always knew- it was because he was _my_ older brother. No matter my purpose, it was _his_ to protect me!”

He'd told the damn fool he couldn't take anymore crying! Why did he think to mention Amrallan?! Even while saying the blighted words he'd known what the result would likely be! At a loss, he threw his arms around Evallan's tremulous frame, dragging him into his chest. The elf yielded to this comfort without complaint, burying his face into Dorian's robes while he clung around the waist.

For a while they sat huddled, air shuddering audibly through Evallan's lungs. Dorian thought back to his time in the Keeper's memory, recalling how suddenly everything of him shut down and skittered away, the moment he realised Amrallan had departed...

“When you lost Amrallan...” He uttered against his better judgement, mouth dry. “...It was like the whole world had gone dark, wasn't it?”

“Yes.” The elf hiccuped, hunching more into Dorian's robes. “It fell all at once- I thought I would never again know warmth.”

“Maybe...it's my own familial dysfunction...” He reflected tensely. “...But I don't envy you, Evallan. I can't imagine a family member defining you so much...to feel like something in _yourself_ had _died_ with them...”

“And yet I cannot imagine who I would be otherwise...His absence defines me as much as his presence.”

“...I'm sorry,” Dorian squeezed tighter, as if to strangle the bizarre guilt inside himself. “For everything you've lost- it wasn't fair. I wish I could have-”

Evallan abruptly pulled back- just enough for his tearful eyes to lock onto Dorian's.

“When I saw you again...it was like sunlight, after the longest dark.”

Again Dorian felt as though his insides were crushed by shame, even as his skin heated.

“You shouldn't...say things like that...”

“Why not?” Wiping away tears, Evallan's gaze hardened. “I respect why I should not touch you- at least allow me to speak.”

“I could just run out of the room- that's what _you'd_ do.” He laughed, genuinely tickled by the thought.

“But you are kinder than I am.” The elf said without hesitation, almost smiling.

“Yes,” Dorian chuckled. “Unfortunately for me, yes.”

Exhaling steadily, Evallan reached out, grazing his jaw while torturing Dorian with more speech he couldn't stand to hear.

“You were wrong- when you said I am not cold. You found the warmth in me...by burning too bright to see anything else.”

Speechless and absolutely crimson, he could only stare. Unswayed by this, Evallan angled forward, affectionately nosing into Dorian's neck- muttering a single phrase-

“ _Ma vhenan.”_

Full of so much tenderness his heart ached! A vision flashed through his mind- scrabbling through corpses with bloodied hands, sobbing fitfully- until finally clutching a gold chain-

“ _Don't-”_ He recoiled- from both touch and memory. “Don't call me that...”

Arching a brow, the Keeper leant forward again- something mischievous in his face.

“ _I mean it, Evallan.”_ He said rigidly. “Don't...”

Instantly withdrawing, Evallan bowed his head in apology.

“I am sorry...I will try not to...”

Unnerved in every manner possible, Dorian took burnt hands into his own once more, eager to complete his task.

“It's fine-” He muttered, looping fabric around fingers. “I'm not angry. I just...between what Lightbringer showed me and all these fool things you keep saying...I'm not feeling very good about myself...”

“But...you have done nothing?” Evallan inquired, sounding genuinely baffled.

“Exactly.” Dorian ground out. “I didn't do anything. There's a lot I could have done, in a lot of instances. And I did nothing.”

“That is untrue- and not what I meant-”

“I know!” He dismissed with a clumsy gesture, finishing the last tie of bandage. “I know that's not what you meant- let's just...Come on, we're done here- let's head off. Just forget I said anything.”

Though regarded quizzically, he was still obliged. No further conversation transpired and the pair made for the library, hands lightly joint- Evallan was reluctant to part from him and Dorian had to admit he was _little_ terrified to let the man out of his sight.

They were greeted by Katerina, whirling from a bookcase to smirk at the duo.

“Oh good, you found him! Maybe _now_ you'll get to work?”

“You say that as if I'll be working for _you,_ ” Dorian scoffed. “You forget I have a _very_ important paper on wyvern mating habits that I _must_ attend to.”

Snorting, she inclined her chin to the barely-attentive Keeper.

“Well _he_ can read, can't he?” Squinting as if to guess Evallan's literacy through appearance, she added. “Probably hasn't translated any Dwarven before, though...”

This was received by a clueless stare from Evallan, causing Dorian to chuckle.

“It's alright,” He assured, pressing their shoulders together. “I'll show you how.”

“By show him how...” Katerina intervened, her squint intensifying. “You mean you'll teach him the words for _'Blight'_ and _'Archdemon'_ and tell him to throw out anything else...”

“Well, obviously!” He admitted with an eye-roll. “That's much quicker.”

“It also leads to you missing things! You're not going to teach him your bad habits!”

Perusing the two like a strict schoolteacher, she barrelled on before Dorian could speak-

“ _In fact!- You_ don't even have to be here! _He's_ the one secluded to the upper levels- you can write your paper anywhere!”

“ _First_ of all- stop talking about him like he isn't here!” He rebounded, then angled to grin cheerily at the blank-faced elf;

“ _Second_ of all...you _want_ me here, don't you, Keeper? You won't be comfortable if I leave, will you?”

He looked at the two like a child caught between parents, struggling to comprehend the exchange. Eventually he answered, while viewing Dorian with such blatant adoration that he _almost_ felt bad for putting the poor, Entrapped fool on the spot.

“Yes, I would like you to stay with me.”

“ _Ugh,_ fine then!” Katerina brandished her arms in irate surrender. “You two can just sit here, take up space, make eyes at each other and drive me crazy!- Is that what you came here for?”

Absolutely beaming in satisfaction- Dorian cackled-

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that?”

She threw her arms up in another show of defeat, ambling back to her own pile of tomes.

Soon they were pouring over volumes at their old table, stirring fond recollections of simpler, more ignorant exchanges. As promised, Dorian instructed Evallan on what words to hunt for, also providing him a glossary of phrases often utilised by new researchers.

He had to confess...it was gratifying to relive the innocent stupidity of their lessons- with the newfound benefit of not having to restrain his wandering eye so much. Sometimes the Keeper even extended his hand, brushing against Dorian's as if to confirm his presence. Each time his heart skipped, both soothing and torturous...

How _badly_ he wanted to reach across that space- to graze with his mouth instead of his fingers.

The self-loathing that consequently plagued Dorian was near-intolerable.

“...Something on your mind?”

_Maker, do I look that bloody lecherous?!_

“...I'm just wondering what to do about this sleeping arrangement.” He excused- it wasn't a _total_ lie. “Maybe we can fetch the bedding from your room, and I can sleep on the floor...”

“But I enjoy sharing a bed with you.” Evallan countered, smiling affectionately, causing Dorian's heart to sink.

“...I really miss when you had an internal filter, do you know that?”

Smile widening, the elf immersed himself in work without comment.

“...It wouldn't be such an issue if I just wanted to bed or enthral you, like everyone keeps saying...” He lamented, face dropping to balance on knuckles.

“So you do not want to bed or enthral me?” The question was delivered without eye contact, Evallan feigning interest in his notes.

“I- _what?”_ Stunned and uncertain how to proceed, he verbally flailed. “Well, um, no- I'm saying no to both these things...”

Breaking his focus on the pages, Evallan leant back into his chair with an impish smirk- inspiring quite a few emotions that Dorian _certainly_ didn't need right now!

“So...you do not want to bed me, you do not wish to enthral me...that really only leaves one thing.”

Whatever that _'one thing'_ was- he was sure he would dislike it! Struggling, he issued a lone syllable-

“ _...Ah...?”_

Which caused the elf to laugh, a sound as clear and invigorating as chantry bells.

“...Do you expect me to make an honest man out of you, Dorian Pavus?”

Shocked witless- he gaped, blushed, stared. More laughter rang over his head, increasing his bashfulness and feeling of exposure.

“I-I-um...” He was hoping if he moved his mouth, words would naturally form- no such luck. Adding to his misery was Katerina, who just so happened to pass at that moment-

“Oh, Maker! What did you say to him?!”

“ _Nothing!”_ Dorian cut in, refusing to let Evallan answer. _“He didn't say anything! Mind your business!”_

If anyone had told him that one day, Keeper Lavellan and his good friend Kat would be roaring together at his expense- he never would have believed it.

In the evening they exited with a loose press of mages, aiming for the dining hall. However in only a few steps, Dorian noted a skittishness about the elf's demeanour. His posture was drawn inwards, the fingers clinging to his own stiff, and he seemed to struggle with his inability to blanket himself in that aura of unseen. It was clear to Dorian in how he gravitated to the wall- distancing as much as possible from the crowd.

“Wait a second...” Pausing, he lured Evallan to one side, allowing the trickle of bodies to pass. “Are you...sure you want to have dinner with everyone else? You seem overwhelmed...”

Gnawing at his cheek, the Keeper's feet shuffled, clearly too bashful to voice discomfort.

“That's what I thought...” Dorian cooed, leading his charge away from the bustle. “Head back to my room- I'll bring us dinner, alright?”

Hesitating, eyes darted nervously around...

“...Will you say goodnight to Fila for me?”

“Yes, yes, I'll say goodnight to Fila for you,” He agreed, chuckling softly. “Off with you. I'll be there soon...”

He meandered to the ground floor on his lonesome, Katerina already somewhere ahead. He tried to rush through the swarm, quietly agonised by the thought of Evallan left unattended- then feeling quite stupid for it.

_He's not a bloody child..._

_...He's just a little out of sorts, that's all..._

Reaching his destination, he wasted no time in grabbing plates and collecting whatever food looked edible enough for the Keeper's distinct appetite.

Even if his taste-buds were currently dead, judging by his attitude during breakfast.

“Oh, Dorian,” Fila piped up, observing from the table. “Eldest isn't joining us?”

“I think he's had enough of um, social environments...” He explained, shrugging. “Don't worry- I'll make sure he eats. He told me to tell _you_ goodnight.”

“Here- I saved this for him!” Titus called out, tossing an apple that Dorian barely managed to catch.

“You're a good lad, Titus!”

Promptly departing, he climbed the tower, balancing plates and a single fruit. Somehow he managed not to drop anything or make a mess. He was thankful to see Evallan had thought to leave the door open a crack- so he didn't have to fumble with the handle and his dinner-pile.

Inside Evallan waited, idling at the writing desk. His posture heightened upon sighting Dorian, eyes slightly wider.

“I missed you.” He greeted, focus glued to the other mage, ignoring the meal set before him.

“I was only gone for a few minutes, Evallan...” Dorian countered, face heating.

“And in that time, I missed you.”

Cursing inwardly, he slipped a fork into a bandaged hand, gently directing;

“Just eat, alright? No more talking...”

Together they dined in comfortable silence and once done, Evallan insisted on returning their dishes to the kitchen.

“You don't have to do that- I don't want you to get into trouble...”

“Dinner is not over yet, I doubt anyone will notice me.”

So Dorian reluctantly watched him go, then scrawled notes on wyverns until his return.

_I missed you too, actually..._

That felt inappropriate to confess aloud- he bit his tongue.

Their evening was spent in a peaceful haze, almost painfully domestic. Dorian settled at the desk with his notes and Evallan lazed on the bed, memorising the Dwarven glossary. They spoke rarely but Dorian was aware of furtive looks cast his way and couldn't restrain his own- occasionally smiling in private, conflicted joy.

_It...really is lovely to have you here._

_It does make me wonder...how things could have been different..._

Before bed they again separated to wash up and when they reunited, Dorian cajoled Evallan into releasing his hair from another unkempt tie. Perched together among the blankets, he tamed those dark waves, teasing as he did;

“I don't know why you're suddenly so averse to brushing your hair...”

“It takes so long...” He almost whined. “Maybe I should cut it.”

“ _Maker, no!”_ Dorian barked in amusement. “I'm fairly certain it's some sort of...cultural thing with you Lavellan men, to have long hair...”

“You could say that...but it is rather time-consuming.”

“Well that's why I'm helping you, hm? When you're back to normal, you'll be glad I did this for you instead of letting you chop it off.”

“You are probably right.” He yielded, huffing.

Then night had fallen, it was well passed curfew and they slunk under the blankets, side-by-side. This time, Dorian gladly accepted Evallan to huddle against his chest, arms slung around the elf, both hiding in each other's forms. Perhaps he should be more cautious, considering their indiscretions that morning- but he couldn't deny either of them the comfort. It was inescapable, and soothing, and the one aspect of this whole horrid mess that Dorian found serenity in.

_I just have to act like an actual, decent man..._

_...Instead of a stupid bloody animal._

Swearing that oath to himself, he stroked neatly brushed hair while musing aloud;

“You know, it's funny...if it was any other man I'd had the nerve to move in here, the Templars would be banging on my door, accusing us of conspiring or some such...but because it's _you_ , and you're not only terrifying but _also_ Entrapped, no one dares say a word...”

“You have had quite a few men here, then?” Evallan joked, breathing the words into Dorian's collar.

“ _That_...is not a question I'll be answering to _you.”_ He snorted defensively.

“Why not?!” Practically giggling, Evallan lifted to grin wolfishly at him. “Are you embarrassed?!”

Skin dyed crimson for the dozenth time that day, Dorian groaned, concealing his face in his sleeping-partner's neck-

“ _Yes, yes!_ Terribly embarrassed- please stop looking at me like that!”

The elf rumbled with affectionate mirth, nosing into Dorian's hair.

“You should not be- I only mean to tease you...”

“That's _why_ I'm embarrassed!” He half-chortled, half-whimpered. “Andraste have mercy...”

Though he didn't really mind- it was another one of the few benefits to all this insanity.

_None of this should have happened, but..._

_...I'm glad he can be free of his insecurities, for a little while..._

Indeed he was enjoying to see the Keeper laugh, and jest, and relax- _almost_ like a person.

Almost like that tenacious, adventurous boy, full of love and running free with his brothers in the Wilds.

  
\--  
  


Light bounced from crystal spires, dazzling his vision and crossing his eyes. Dorian squeezed them shut, briefly unconscious to his environment, or to the concept there was anything unusual about it.

Besides- he often dreamt of snow. He was unperturbed by the chill blanket swaddling the area, at first not even perceiving the ethereal structures as unordinary. It took a gleaming silhouette of a person waving in his face for him to realise his location.

“...Oh.” He breathed out, gradually recognising the border between Lightbringer's dream and Evallan's. She stood on her own side, chin jutting, hand passing in front of Dorian's face to stir him. Overall, she appeared rather entertained by the mage's stupor.

“...That's not very polite, you know.” He chided- though not seriously. Leaning back, her torso seemed to quake in mute laughter.

“Yes, yes, I'm sure this is all very amusing for you- now that you're in one solid piece, anyway.”

Looking around, he found himself seated upon the ground at the edge of Evallan's dream. Unchanged since Dorian last visited, which he supposed had to be a positive sign. Though he didn't have much opportunity to examine further, a voice suddenly stating-

“You are not my brother.” With something sarcastic in its tone, as if sharing an inside joke.

The cadence of it was vaguely familiar- head turning, he was unsurprised to spot a vision of Amrallan. Just as he'd been on their first and single meeting- while Dorian and Evallan had aged, grown and scarred, what remained of Amrallan was preserved exactly as he'd been.

“Yes, well, you're not really anyone's brother, either.” He commented with a shrug.

“I am too his brother!” The Spirit harrumphed, foot-stamping and arms folding. “Ask him yourself if he would call me such!”

There was no good reason to debate, of course- he deigned to take the spirit's word for it. Unfurling to his full height, Dorian shook powder from his robes while approaching.

“So...I'm going to have to occupy his dream now too, am I?” It was worth asking- and Lightbringer's communicative abilities weren't particularly helpful.

“A dream requires a dreamer, no?” He answered with a bright smile.

“I do have my _own_ dream that might need me...”

“Not to offend you, Dorian Pavus...” The spirit began to jest, already chortling. “But your dream is not _nearly_ as complicated as my brother's!”

Despite guffawing, he had to relent;

“Well...it is true that my dream was mostly snowfall, last I saw it.”

Amrallan beamed, apparently pleased by this admission.

Regardless of such banter, Dorian's thoughts were possessed by other topics.

“Tell me something...you probably remember most of what Amrallan would, no?”  
  
“Mhm.”

Seizing upon that, he attempted to voice his musings;

“...Has your brother always been so, ah...”

Not missing a step, the spirit aided, chuckling-

“Romantically-minded?”

“I doubt he'd want it phrased _that_ way-” He spluttered at the mere idea of it. “-but _yes_.”

“You have seen some of his memories...” A brow lofted at him, in that trademark Lavellan fashion. “...you cannot answer that for yourself?”

“I'm afraid it wasn't a very comprehensive process!” Which was part of the reason he was so damned frustrated, truth be told.

The spirit nodded in understanding, then took to leisurely pacing about, movements in step with his languid way of speech.

“When we were very young, the other children would tease my brother for his manner of expression. He has always been somewhat dramatic...He swore to the Dread Wolf so often that our mother would give him an extra chore for every time he did. I think that is part of why he grew to say so little.”

This _did_ offer much-required perspective...

“See...that's the sort of thing I missed in my little memory-trip.”

Amrallan halted his meandering, hands beginning to fidget.

“...He is stable, I hope? It is somewhat stressful for me- I am unable to reach him in his state...”

“Yes, he is- don't worry-” Dorian offered prompt assurance, mind then wandering... “But, I...I am a _little_ concerned, actually.”

Receptively silent, the spirit nodded for him to continue.

“I don't know...if what I'm doing is right- he keeps _saying_ things- I'm worried he'll regret them later...”

“Why would he regret them?” His head tilted, brows elevating higher. “Are they unkind?”

“Um, no- not...unkind...” Dorian murmured, aware his skin must have blushed.

The spirit regarded him in wordless surprise for a moment.

“...Oh, I see.”

“Right...” Groaning in dismay, his palm splayed along his forehead.

A short time was spent in deliberation, the figment apparently wishing to choose his words carefully.

“...Well, obviously you should not allow him to act on his thoughts- I doubt he has the self-awareness to gauge his decisions-” Dorian nodded in agreement. “...but simply to speak? I am sure he will be embarrassed later...but I think, also relieved.”

Considering this response with equal care, gradually Dorian sought clarification.

“So if he...starts rambling on, I should just listen?”

“Why not?” Amrallan shrugged. “You will not use his words against him, will you? You will not be cruel to him, or intend to insult or take advantage of him, or any such thing?”

Stunned by just the mention of it, Dorian balked-

“I- _of course not!”_

The spirit blinked at him.

“Then what is the harm?”

Which led to Dorian wrestling with his emotions. Emotions he'd wrestled with all day; since mistakenly pinning Evallan to his mattress in the morning, right down to the moment they slumbered in each other's arms, revelling foolishly in playful exchanges...

“...I feel _guilty._ I keep feeling as though...a part of me should have _known._ Or maybe a part of me _did_ know, and it was more convenient to ignore it...What if, all that time ago, I'd asked him about my amulet, directly? What if I'd written to him? What if-”

“My brother is a very private person,” He reminded, raising a hand for Dorian to cease. “ _Perhaps_ if you'd confronted him, he would have been less alone...Alternatively, _perhap_ s it would have pushed him further away, unwilling and unable to examine his feelings. Then, you would have had more to burden you here in your tower, and he likely would not have held to your Birthright for strength...”

Mulling over this perspective, Dorian slowly untied the knot in his chest.

“...And I suppose he needed that private comfort, as much as I needed to pretend it was none of my business...”

“We all must survive, Dorian Pavus. Neither of you are at fault for that. You are together now, and able to help each other, _because_ you preserved the most important parts of yourselves.”

He conveyed with such confidence, with such a keen sense of _knowing._ It was successful in quelling some of Dorian's fears, head bobbing in acceptance.

“...Thank you.” Then he snickered, allowing it to morph into a grin. “You're rather good at this.”

“Well, thank you in return!” The spirit hooted, energised by the compliment. “It is my nature, after all.”

“I _do_ feel a lot less awful...” Dorian admitted- and was quick to add. “I'll keep looking out for him- he'll be in one piece when you next see him, I swear.”

“You need not make promises to me,” Smiling warmly, Amrallan shook his head. “As when we first met...I know you will take good care of my brother.”

He couldn't recall the remainder of that dream- but he knew it was pleasant, tinged with the peaceful nostalgia of familial reunions, or a meeting of childhood friends.

  
\--  
  


The room was barely visible when Dorian awoke, tinted in cool light- still so dreadfully early. He had to assume that all this time spent with Evallan was causing him to adjust his sleeping pattern. Yawning tiredly, he stretched and twisted, on the hunt for luminous eyes in the murk. He discovered them somewhat above himself; the elf perched with elbow upon pillow, reflective gaze settled on Dorian, mouth settled into a slight curve.

After some thoughtless staring, it occurred to Dorian what the Keeper was doing- and had probably been doing for some time. Failing to suppress the heat in his face- and _annoyed_ by the idea it would remain that red one of these days- he probed;

“...Are you...watching me sleep?”

“Mhm,” That tiny smirk pulled further along his cheek. “Does it _bother_ you?”

For a heartbeat he was frozen, somehow assaulted by that one phrase- it had become something of a code between them, hadn't it?

Does it _bother_ you- how I look at you? How I've changed? Does it bother you when I sit so close, when I feel so much?

Does it bother you? Is this alright?

Fiddling with blankets, Dorian blathered...

“I- well...not exactly, but...” Examining closely, he had to ask. “...Do you... _always_ watch me sleep?”

“I usually wake up before you, no?” Evallan pointed out, still smiling.

“I...yes, I suppose then...that _would_ make sense to you, wouldn't it?” It would be amusing if he wasn't so bloody _self-conscious_ all of a sudden!

“Mhm. Would you like me to stop?”

“...I-I'm not sure-” Flustered, he descended further into their bedding. “...I'll have to think about it...”

“As you say...”

Of course while he thought about it, the damn elf was just going to lay there, still watching him intently, still with that bloody infuriating- adorable- _obnoxious_ \- smirk! This made thinking about _anything_ more of a challenge but Dorian fought to do so; pointedly not making eye contact, focus targeting a vacant spot above Evallan's shoulder.

While puzzling over the inappropriateness and his own levels of comfort, he rehashed 'Amrallan's' advice, trying to judge where being observed in ones sleep would fall under. It was _technically_ an action, yes? Yet not one that shamed either of them too aggressively. He also couldn't help but imagine all those times the Keeper likely meditated over him as he rested- so full of self-depreciation, he couldn't submit to this meagre desire while both were conscious.

Now Evallan openly revelled in his admiration, longing and contentment pouring from subtle expressions.

Dorian supposed...he could- perhaps _should_ \- allow him that privilege.

“...I _think_ it's alright. I _think_ I don't mind.” He mumbled, still terribly self-aware.

“I am honoured.” Teeth flashing in a grin, he tilted forward, planting a kiss on Dorian's inflamed cheek.

“ _Evallan!-”_ He began to scold but the elf was already unwinding and collecting his robes. “Wait- what are you doing _now!?”_

“Dalish business.” Evallan replied simply, limbs shoving into folds.

“And you're not going to tell me...” Dorian sighed.

Almost mimicking his sigh, the Keeper sat once more, hand gingerly reaching for his own.

“I do not want to worry you.” He admitted, voice sweet, fingers toying with the ones he'd captured.

“Ah, yes. Certainly there's nothing about a lack of communication that might worry me.” Dorian chided, knitting his brow.

“It will become evident soon enough...for now, I would rather...” Pausing, his gaze flitted between their hands and Dorian's face. “...I want to enjoy your presence, without argument, or debate, or concern...”

“Good luck with _that,”_ He snorted. “I have more than a few of those, if you haven't noticed.”

“I noticed.” Exhaling, he brought Dorian's knuckles to his lips, pressing there momentarily.

“E-Evallan...” Again he meant to scold and again the elf took to his feet, smirking privately as he made for the door.

“You-you're _impossible!”_ He spluttered, helpless. “Far worse than I _ever_ was- I'll have you know!”

Pausing, Evallan regarded him with a brow raised.

“...Does that truly surprise you...?”

“...No.” Frowning, he instead gestured to that wild mess of black. “...Are you not going to brush your hair, at least?”

“I do not have time.” Opening the door, he shrugged. “You will have to busy yourself with my presentation later, I am afraid.”

“Alright, fine...but you'll be down for breakfast, won't you?”

“Of course- and then we will return to our work in the library.” Offering him a final, intimate smile, Evallan slipped out to meet Fila Maker-knows-where, to do Maker-knows-what.

Or Mythal-knows-what, as the case may be. It _was_ after all ' _Dalish business'._

Curling beneath sheets- still blissfully radiating Evallan's body-heat - he dozed until they would meet in the dining hall.

Someone- Fila, he supposed- had enforced their own presentation standards upon Evallan's hair by then. Beaming at the usual suspects- plus one elf- Dorian seated opposite the Dalish siblings. Evidently this wasn't to the Keeper's satisfaction; without comment he slipped from his place to sit alongside Dorian, that now-usual smile lingering.

“I don't suppose _you'll_ tell me what he's up to...?” He directed at Fila.

Firming her mouth, the younger elf stated, imitating her clan-brother's severe tone;

“ _Dalish business, I'm afraid.”_

“ _Ugh!”_ Rolling his eyes, Dorian switched his interrogation- facing Titus. “They haven't told _you_ what they're up to, have they?”

“Nobe!” The Tevinter lad replied through a mouthful of bread.

“Stop being so nosy for once!” Katerina joined in the conversation. “Look- Elias is asking after you- _both_ of you, actually!”

“ _Both_ of us?” With a snicker he took the page she offered, scanning quickly. “...I miss him- I haven't had time to write the fool, with all this mania...It's too bad he's not here- I bet you two would get along, you know. In your own way...”

“He seems like a good man.” Evallan said in a neutral sort of agreement.

“He's got it into his nug-brained head that you saved his life.” Katerina informed with a laugh.

“I did no such thing.” The Keeper rebuffed, almost pouting.

“Well _I_ know that-” She laughed again- revealing no malice in her tone. “If not he'd actually be _here,_ wouldn't he?”

“Exactly.”

“...Well, you _did_ get him into the Wardens, technically...” Dorian recalled.

Moaning, Evallan slouched in his chair.

“I _really_ did not!”

“It's obviously the way _he_ sees it though!” He countered. “And _I'm_ inclined to agree!”

He was brushed aside with some Dalish muttering, the group soon falling into brief dialogue between chews. Breakfast concluded, the trio destined for the library walked together, Katerina leading while Evallan and Dorian swung their hands between themselves in juvenile contentment.

They bumbled around the room with their usual morning laziness, until Dorian noted his elven charge patting his many-layered robes in consternation.

“...Something wrong?”

“I think I forgot the glossary.” He mumbled, shooting a furtive look towards Kat- probably concluding, correctly, that she would not give up a fresh one without lecturing first.

“Oh- I'll fetch it for you, that's fine-” Already Dorian was standing from his place- earning an apprehensive frown.

“I can do so myself...”

“It's really no trouble, Evallan. Don't start with your attitude!” He snickered, shooing the elf away. “Where did you leave it? Do you remember?”

“...Under the pillow, perhaps? Or...perhaps it fell behind the bed...”

Snorting at this non-committal response, Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Well, just sit tight. I'm sure I'll find it- or we'll _both_ earn a walloping from Kat!”

“I suspect that is true.” Was grumbled at his back- the poor man seemed rather displeased at this forgetfulness. Dorian suspected Evallan was unaccustomed to being so especially scattered- a part of him deep down had to be irate, even if isolated by the Entrapment.

Venturing to his room alone, he was surprised and suspicious to discover the door open by a sliver. Unease building within his chest, he quickly entered to confront whatever disruption might be occurring.

Broad shoulders covered by metal plate- the back of a scarred head. Dorian identified the figure before it turned to glare, sharp eyes cutting fiercely into his own.

 _Marcus Rorick_ \- who as far as Dorian knew, was _meant_ to be awaiting investigation and possible trial in the barracks.

Matching the Templar's distasteful glower, he sneered-

“What are _you_ doing in my room? You're disallowed from the tower, last I heard.”

“So run off and tell someone, you big fairy.” The warrior snarled, challenging with tone and scowl. Though it was childish, Dorian found himself acquiescing to that challenge- hardening his glare, he stood firm and expectant.

 _I don't need the First Enchanter to deal with_ you _, oaf._

 _I don't even need_ Evallan _to deal with you._

Satisfied by this display of chauvinism, Marcus inclined his chin.

“See, I was just _curious_...heard Lavellan was bunking with _you_ , made me wonder if I'd find anything... _relevant_ to the investigation...”

Torso angling, he plucked something from the dresser behind and held it before Dorian's vision. At a glance he recognised it; the largest surviving portion of his broken hilt, destroyed by a stomp from Turnblade.

Sickness rose up in his throat while the Templar commenced his spiel-

“I found _this_ \- then I remembered...back when you grabbed Lightbringer- you grabbed it because _this_ was already broken, am I right?”

Dorian felt his skin greening but knew he had to excuse- as lame as it sounded on his tongue.

“It was shattered on our mission, and what?”

“ _Bullshit.”_ Marcus said curtly. _“This_...was shattered by a Templar boot.”

To somehow accentuate his point, he threw the splintered weapon between them, where it clattered ominously before the room was plunged into silence. In that time Dorian scrambled for more excuses- any detail to waylay the dagger-eyed commander. His uselessness at deception became more evident with each passing moment and eventually, Marcus had no more patience for it.

“When you barged in...” He ground out, sights narrowing. “...you said he was _protecting_ you- you weren't lying _then._ You're lying _now_. And you're fucking _terrible_ at it. I could stand here a void-damned hour and you _still_ wouldn't know what the _fuck_ to say to me, would you?”

The commander wasn't wrong about that- Dorian's tongue had become like a dead fish in his mouth. He could only imagine the horror his features had paralysed into as he beheld fragmented iron, completely empty-headed.

“You know, Pavus...” Marcus continued growling. “There's a lot I don't like about you. But you know what I never took you for? A fucking _coward_ , or a _liar_. That much Maker-damned benefit, I could give you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He defended weakly, almost delirious from panic.

“ _Yeah you do!”_ The Templar barked, chuckling bitterly. “I'm talking about you throwing Lavellan to the fucking lions. _You_ were there. _You_ know what happened. _You_ could set all this _fucking straight!_ ”

_He's right._

The internal admission struck him like lightning. All Dorian could do was stand there, quietly smothered by shame. Observing the conflict no doubt warring in his expression, Marcus snapped-

“ _I can't fucking believe this!_ \- Aren't you his friend?! No, _fuck that_ \- aren't you fucking _sleeping with him?!_ And you're letting him take the heat for you?! _What the fuck, Pavus?!”_

Accusations needled into Dorian's ribcage, his stomach flip-flopping queasily. He was well aware of how it _seemed_ \- and though it wasn't _precisely_ how it seemed, not all of those assumptions were unfair.

That they were being hurled by _Marcus_ \- of _all_ people- somehow made them more profound.

All he could do was blather, helpless-

“I...I'm _not_ \- _we're_ not...”

After all...it was the only thing he could deny in good conscience.

Though it was hardly Marcus' chief concern.

“ _What the actual fuck, Pavus!?”_ He bowled over Dorian's speech, kicking the hilt aside. “Whatever those stuffy fucking clerics do to him...it's on _your_ bleeding head!”

Then stormed out, leaving Dorian to blink dumbly after him. Gathering his wits, he trailed after the commander into the hall, still searching for an argument inside himself- discovering nothing.

Outside his room, Evallan had appeared, statuesque and quizzical as his eyes tracked Marcus. For his part the Templar barely offered a glance- apparently he didn't judge the Keeper as worth attention in his current state. Which was somewhat laughable- considering it was Marcus who inflicted it upon him.

Not that Dorian currently had it within him to laugh, instead observing morosely as the commander marched down the stairs.

Approaching, Evallan touched his arm, inspecting him.

“Why was he here? Did he trouble you?”

“No- it's fine, he...” Faltering, he turned his worrisome gaze onto Evallan. “...Listen- this isn't right. You and Irving...you want me to lie- pretend I wasn't there- but...it's not right. I can't let you carry that weight for me. I _won't._ ”

Cursing in his native tongue, the elf grasped Dorian's bicep, promptly talking over him-

“Ma vhenan, stop this-” Pulling nearer, he hissed in a glimmer of that usual conviction. “Do not allow him to get under your skin, please.”

“ _Don't_ call me that!- Just _listen_ \- he's _right!_ ” Dorian protested, frantic. “How can I let you do that for me!? How can I let you do that and still-”

His desperation was abruptly muffled, a scarred mouth crushing his own. Stupefied, he froze, hands clumsily poised in mid-gesture, eyes popping from his skull. He couldn't help but notice the lack of _'cold'_ taste- not that he minded either way...

It wasn't until Evallan broke the ill-received kiss that he was able to speak.

“P-people might _see_ you, you know...”

Accompanied by more Dalish swearing, his lips were again captured- this time he couldn't help giggling, though was earnest to separate.

“You can't just kiss me when you want me to be quiet!” He chortled, frantic for entirely new reasons. “I-I shouldn't even be letting you!”

“Allow me that once- and stop worrying, please.” Clinging to Dorian's neck, Evallan's forehead slumped against his shoulder. “Do not put yourself in harms way for me- I _beg_ you. I could not bear that.”

In that instant he hadn't the heart to debate and merely yielded. Together they retrieved the misplaced glossary and returned to their work, with Dorian stifling his internal conflict.

For some hours they were blissfully undisturbed but the clang of armour soon signalled _more_ trouble. Initially Dorian feared Marcus had returned to publicise his accusations- fortunately it was Greagoir and Irving, considerably smaller threats than the renegade Templar.

Their arrival still upset Dorian's nerves, observing cautiously as the duo made for Evallan.

“With me, boy,” Greagoir ordered. “We'll need an official statement out of you.”

In his current state there was no side of Evallan that could resist. He stood without complaint and Dorian hastened to slip between him and the Knight Commander, words spewing from him urgently-

“ _Wait!_ You can't really mean to interrogate him _now?!_ ” Indicating the elf alongside him, he went on. “Not while he's _Entrapped?_ He's practically needing to be babysat, for Andraste's sake! He's liable to just agree with whatever he's told, or tell you whatever he thinks you want to hear!”

Exhaling wearily, Greagoir scanned Evallan's features, then looked to the First Enchanter for his opinion.

“It is true that we have no idea precisely how he may have been altered...and all stories of Entrapment seem to mention a sense of complacency being cast upon the victim...”

The Templar sighed again but nodded a second later.

“Fine. I will not take advantage of whatever this unholy practise has done to him. That is not a tactic I wish to see made acceptable. Not within the Circle, not among our Templars, and certainly not within _our_ tower.”

“However, as soon as he returns to himself...” Irving motioned.

“I will seek you out immediately, First Enchanter,” Evallan promised, lowering his head in respect. “Knight Commander...”

The pair briskly departed for whatever other duties or messes had to be attended to. Dorian supposed the investigation would commence without Evallan- his collaboration would still be insisted upon when it was through.

_I have until then to convince him..._

_He needs to tell the truth- we both need to._

_It shouldn't matter what might happen to me..._

_...It's what's_ right _that matters._

 _Even_ Marcus _recognises it._

_In a way...I'm thankful he put me in my bloody place._

“Thank you...” The Keeper's voice yanked him from that pondering.

“It's alright, but...” Huffing, Dorian knew he had to insist. “...you have to swear to me you're going to think about this situation, Evallan- _please._ I want you to _really_ consider what you're going to tell them- and what you want _me_ to tell them...”

Exalting a dramatic breath, Evallan bobbed his chin.

“If it pleases you, I will think on it.”

“It _would_ please me,” He pressed, grinning. “It would please me very much, in fact.”

“Then I will give it serious thought.”

Dorian willed himself to settle with that compromise, hoping with time to think, Evallan would reach the same conclusion he had- the truth was more important than protecting _him_. Granted, the Keeper's perspective might change vastly once his mental state had normalised- there was no way to predict his final decision.

  
\--

“Good morning.”

Moaning responsively, Dorian stretched, face sinking into a muscular chest. Evallan had mercifully taken to wearing long sleeves and sleeping-trousers that fell to his ankles, so temptation wasn't as severe as on their first night together.

“Mn...good morning.” He murmured into the elf's breast, peaceably curling into his frame. A hand buried into his hair, soothing in how digits toyed with short tresses.

“...May I ask you a question?” Evallan inquired, still playing with his bedhead.

“Hrm? Of course...” Dorian agreed without lifting his face, too cosy and serene to bother.

“What is the meaning of the word _'amatus'_?”

All the grogginess fled from Dorian's mind at once. Bucking into more of a sitting position, he regarded his sleeping-partner in utter bewilderment, cheeks on fire- though by now he was becoming accustomed to that.

“ _E-excuse me?!”_ He spluttered, voice high. “Where did you hear _that_?”

“A Tevinter called his partner such.” Evallan conveyed, shrugging. “He said it often.”

Eyelids fluttering as he attempted to wake himself enough to answer such...questions, Dorian struggled to elaborate.

“...Maker, well...it's very similar to _'ma vhenan'_ , actually...a term of endearment. Except it, ah- has some... _intimate_ connotations. It's not really something to be said in public...”

“Oh?” A brow lofted at him. “I heard it used quite freely.”

“...It wasn't _Titus_ you heard this from, was it?” Evallan shook his head. “Alright, _good_...I _did_ think I'd taught that boy better than that...”

Mulling it over, Dorian had to laugh, slouching once more into the Keeper's torso.

“In any case...” He considered lazily. “...the man you heard it from must be rather shameless, to throw it about like that.”

“He did seem the type.”

Dorian fidgeted with a few loose threads from Evallan's shirt, wondering if to voice his musings...

“...Did you...like the sound of it? When you heard it?”

“I thought it was sweet.” He confessed without reserve.

“O-oh...” His skin inflamed yet again. “...I was just- for future reference...Maybe one day you'd...nevermind...”

The hand which had been playing with his mane suddenly paused.

“...You still think I will want nothing to do with you.” Evallan pointed out with a hint of grief.

“Yes- I'm sorry- but...it doesn't matter- truly,” Or so he would tell himself, repeatedly. “I'm just...happy you're with me now. I'll treasure this.”

Angling so they were forced to make eye contact, Evallan knit his brow.

“I am not going to abandon you, Dorian.”

“I know you mean that right _now_ , but...well, we'll see...”

With each day that passed more awareness seeped into those icy eyes, warped skin mended, scars and scabs faded, the magic in his aura began to fizzle. It filled Dorian with insurmountable relief- but also a strange, terrified mourning.

_Someday soon..._

_...the way you look at me is going to change._

_We won't be like this._


End file.
